There will be time
by respitechristopher
Summary: The two enemies of human happiness are pain and boredom: Arthur Schopenhauer. Harry has had plenty of pain. What happens as he strives to stave off boredom? Can he properly grieve the last four years while simultaneously constantly doing something?
1. 1: A Proper Cadence

Author's note: A "Cadence" in musical terminology refers to the end of a musical phrase. Musicians will be familiar with a V-I (dominant - tonic) cadence, which is the most satisfying to the listener, as well as the most often used. Occasionally composers will lead into the tonic chord with an inverted tonic in the (6/4) position, which feels to the listener like a continuation of the dominant. After reading Deathly Hallows, I felt as though Jo decided to end her seven-movement symphony with a V-1(6/4) - and then throw in a VI chord as the epilogue, rather than ending on the tonic and adding a coda. To my fellow music geeks, this is my tonic chord. Feel free to wash it down with gin.

Also, on Molly: A reviewer on another site questioned my rather libertine take on her attitudes toward teenage sexuality. My response was and is: "About Mollywobbles: We don't get a whole lot of canonical evidence one way or another about her ideas on pre-marital sex. I've read a bunch of fic where Molly's simply apoplectic at the idea of her children pairing off like this. I took another tack. Figuring that she went to school in the 60s, she'd be a bit more laissez-faire on the subject in general, and especially considering that these children had just saved the world as she knows it."

Hope you all enjoy it. Please consider a review. Thanks! -Christopher

Chapter One: A Proper Cadence

The trio headed to the common room, and suddenly Harry couldn't remember feeling happier in his life. He gingerly placed himself in an armchair by the fireplace in the resplendent peace of the nearly empty room, taking it all in. Here was everything he'd ever dreamed of; finally, no more Dursleys, no more Voldemort. Here there was no saving the world, no worrying that he was in danger of being killed – or worse, expelled – at any moment. In the heart of every man -- even Riddle in his own, twisted way -- there is a fervent desire for peace. And Harry had found peace.

His two best friends in the world, with whom he had conquered Basilisks, Dragons and one of the most powerful wizards the world had ever seen, had found their own peace. A warm smile filled Harry as he watched Ron and Hermione on a couch doing battle with their wills, as through whispered words of affection they allowed the ice dam that held seven years of pent-up longings to melt away -- rather than risk it breaking, drowning their budding romantic relationship. Looking around the room, he saw the regal scarlet and gold Gryffindor banners. He caught the approving eyes of several portraits who, a little more than a year earlier, following his unfortunate absence from an important Quidditch match, had seen him … right about there …

And the warm smile that Harry wore overtook his entire being. However, there was one thing missing from this scene. He visualised, flicked his wand effortlessly, and a resplendent white stag appeared and floated down towards the Great Hall.

"There certainly may be time," Harry thought, "there may be days and months and years. But it had bloody well better start now."

Upon seeing his Patronus breeze through the portrait hole, Harry knew that that had been the right course of action. He was not about to share this moment with anyone else. The stag nuzzled the recipient of its master's message, delivered it, and Ginny got up from the table without a word, but apparently not without notice. The Great Hall stood as one, applauding, hooting and hollering, and generally making a scene. Ginny, blushing, tried to sit back down, but was interrupted by her mother patting her wand.

"Ginevra Weasley, unless you want to be hexed into next week, I suggest you follow that Patronus this instant and tend to that man of yours." The rest of the Weasley clan broke into the kind of cathartic laughter that only grief can bring. Dutifully – and it may have been the only time in her life one could have described her as such – Ginny followed the stag up to the Gryffindor common room.

"He's in there waiting for you, dear," was the greeting she received from the Fat Lady, as the door opened to her whole world.

"Harry!" she exclaimed brightly, and ran over to see for herself that The Boy Who Lived had really, truly done so again.

"Harry, I – Oh my … When did _this_ happen?" She stopped to look at her brother and her best friend, fingers entwined, talking in whispers about nothing at all, punctuated by soft kisses.

"About the time you'd expect. Right as the battle was starting!" He delivered that last line sharply, and straight to the new-formed pair. Ron's face blossomed into a cheeky grin that Hermione quickly kissed off him.

Ginny seated herself gently onto Harry's lap. She kissed the scar on his forehead, then his lips, then his cheeks, and then his eyes, which were by this point moist with tears, not unlike her own.

"Harry, you brave, sweet, kind, brain-addled git," she said through her tears. "Were I in my right mind at present, I would – "

"Ginny," Harry cut her off, "please yell at me. Please rant and rave and send me your worst Bat-Bogey Hex ever. But I'd appreciate it if you could hex me into next week tomorrow. I'm exhausted and simply need you near me right now I think more than I've ever needed anything in my life."

Ginny's anger, what little there was mingled in with grief, happiness, relief and her own exhaustion, melted away at this plaintive request. She understood. She, too, for the first time in a year, had found peace.

Ginny and Harry remained wordless, soaking in each other's presence, each other's smells, and the salve of each other's love – so missed in their year apart. They had sat together on that chair for about twenty minutes when the door to the common room opened. Molly Weasley breezed through the door as easily and comfortably as if she were still Molly Prewett. A wry smile came upon her as she saw Ron and Hermione, whose lips had finally found each other in a proper snog.

"About bloody time," she said, and her smile broadened into quiet laughter as she saw her son and his girlfriend nearly jump out of their skin.

"Mum, I … We … It isn't what it looks like!" Ron sputtered.

"Hermione, dear," answered Molly, disregarding her son completely, "why don't you take Ronald up to your room? You may enjoy a bit of privacy, as it seems your lips have finally followed where your hearts have been for years."

"But, Mrs Weasley, the klaxon. Ron can't just waltz up to the girls' dormitory, " Hermione countered.

"Honestly, dear, did none of the girls tell you? A simple levitation charm is all you need. Tsk! What has happened to Gryffindor sisterhood in thirty years?" Molly shook her head, chuckling.

Hermione beamed, ran over and hugged Molly tenderly, planting a kiss on her cheek. She then grabbed Ron by the hand and led him to the girls' staircase.

"_Wingardium Leviosa."_

'Indeed,' thought Molly, as she watched them ascend to the landing. She then turned to Ginny, who was curled up on the sleeping Harry's lap.

"How is he, dear? And how are you?"

"Getting the first decent sleep he's had in ages, Mum. As for me, I honestly haven't a clue about how I'm feeling."

Molly approached her daughter, tenderly stroking her ginger fringe. "Feeling about …?"

"Feeling about any of this. Fred's gone, so are Tonks and Lupin," she answered matter-of-factly. "I've seen several of my classmates die today, and I don't know whether to cry or scream or throw something. I just know that the most useful thing I can do is to be here with Harry. And so, right now, that's what I'm going to do."

"Right. Well then, dear, help me get him to his room. Up you go, lad." And the two most important women in Harry's life lifted him by his arms and led him to the dorm that he, Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville had shared for so long.

"Help him out of those robes, dear, and put him to bed," said Molly, matter-of-factly. "And don't you dare leave his side until he's well and rested. It'll be better medicine for both of you than Mungo Bonham himself could prescribe." With that she turned and went back down to the Great Hall.

Her husband, Arthur, was waiting for her at the Gryffindor table.

"How are the children?" he asked, rising to greet her with a kiss.

"Did you know that none of the older girls ever taught Hermione that levitation trick to bypass the klaxon? Poor Ronald looked a bit gobsmacked when I shared that titbit with her, mind you."

"About bloody time," said Arthur, and Molly nodded in agreement.

"Quite. And I sent Ginny and Harry to bed as well." And she proceeded to tell her husband everything.

It was several hours later that Harry awoke to find himself in bed, undressed, and wrapped up in the similarly clad Ginny's arms and luscious red hair. Revelling in this scene for a moment he smiled, until his reverie was interrupted by a faint pop followed by a house-elf's whisper.

"Master Harry, Miss Ginny." It was Kreacher.

"Master Harry, you're awake. There's a banquet about to begin in the Great Hall, Master Harry, and Mistress Minerva asked specifically that you and Miss Ginny attend. It is in honour of the great Harry Potter, so brave he was in avenging Master Regulus and defeating the Dark Lord!"

"Yes, thank you, Kreacher," Harry replied, and began looking for his robes.

"Oh, Master Harry. Kreacher has already washed your robes and placed them at the foot of your bed. And yours, too, Miss Ginny." Ginny herself had stirred awake.

"Thank you very much, Kreacher," she said. "That was very kind of you, you didn't have to do that."

"Oh, Kreacher is proud to serve the brave witch who faced down nasty Mistress Bellatrix. Proud indeed is Kreacher. We will expect you shortly then, Master Harry?"

"Yes, of course. Please tell Professor McGonagall that we will be down in a moment. Are Ron and Hermione there already?"

"Yes, Master Harry," replied Kreacher, "Mistress Hermione and Master Ron are waiting for you at the head table." And with another faint pop, Kreacher left to deliver his message.

"What in the name of Merlin's fuzzy pink slippers happened to him?" asked Ginny, quite incredulous at seeing a much different elf than the one she had met at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Hermione, actually. She convinced me that by being kind to Kreacher, he'd come around. And come around he has," Harry replied, quite pleased. The young couple got out of bed, and fumbled around a bit before one of them found a lamp.

"They're going to want you to give a speech, Harry," said Ginny, who had begun to get into her freshly laundered robes.

"Yes, I imagine they will. They're going to be quite a bit of that for the next few weeks I reckon." There was a moment's pause. Then Harry continued.

"Ginny?"

"Yes, love?" Harry grinned at hearing her call him 'love'.

"It's going to be pretty hectic for us for the next little while." Ginny lit up when he said the word 'us'. "People are going to want to pull me here and there. I'm going to be asked to functions and appearances. Folks all over Britain are going to want a piece of The Boy Who Lived Yet Again, and I'm really going to have to give that to them. They're going to try to push you out of the way, and – "

"Harry, I'd love to see them try." And Ginny patted her wand and flashed the wickedest grin Harry had ever seen on a Gryffindor. "I'm not leaving your side, Harry, it's as simple as that. And anyone that asks me to, from you to Ron to Rita sodding Skeeter, is going to find themselves with a face full of Bat Bogeys."

Harry returned his her smile, knowing that an army of Aurors couldn't provide as good a protection as his beloved Ginny.


	2. 2: The Party

Chapter Two: The Party.

Holding Ginny's hand, Harry let out a heavy sigh as he heard, saw and felt the Great Hall rise as one in tumultuous applause as the two of them entered the room. It was only a few meters from the doors to the head table, but it felt like a chasm. The young couple had stopped dead in their tracks when the din started, and the only thing that broke Harry's daze was feeling Ginny jerk ever-so-slightly as she tried to get to her wand. Patting her shoulder, then tenderly stroking between her shoulder blades, he whispered to her, "They mean well, love. Don't go for your wand quite yet. Let's at least get a bite to eat before we start hexing our friends, okay?"

The head table had shrunk to four table settings, and Harry and Ginny took their places next to Ron and Hermione, both of whom had their heads in their hands in disbelief. Yes, what had been done had been remarkable, but must folks carry on like this? Apparently, the assembled guests thought so, because five minutes after it had started, the ovation showed no signs of letting up. At the seven-minute mark, the crowd began chanting "Speech, Speech", and Harry was re-thinking his earlier remonstration to Ginny. But, if a speech was to be Harry's price of admission to this feast, it would be as good a time as any to begin practising. Harry gently rose from his seat, raised both arms so that his hands were level with his head, palms out, and the room quieted more quickly than if he had used a spell.

"Thank you. Thank you all very much. I see that they've shrunk the head table down to four places. Personally, I'm glad for this, for the only other option would have been to have no head table at all. For while there were only three of us who went on the hunt for the pieces of Tom Riddle's – excuse me, I mean the source of his strength, there was always a fourth person. There was, for each of us, someone waiting, someone we would come home to after we had finished our task. And someone whose purpose most of the time was to be the reason we stayed alive. Ron had the entire Weasley family, who lost two uncles during the last war and lost a brother last night. Hermione had her parents, whom she needed to put into exile to avoid capture by Riddle's thugs. I had a small dot on a map of Hogwarts my father and his friends created. Next to that dot was a name: "Ginny Weasley". When I could catch some sleep, I made sure I saw her dot safely tucked into her bed in Gryffindor tower before dozing off. When we weren't on the run, I'd watch her dot make its way from class to class. And for those who may think such memories maudlin or saccharine, also let it be known that as Riddle hit me with the killing curse in the forest, it was the memory of Ginny's first kiss that was the last thing I thought of, and the thought of returning to her that brought me back from beyond. So this fourth chair here is so much more than a place to sit one of the Golden Trio's girlfriend, it represents that power which finally brought down Riddle. It represents love itself, which did more than Ron, Hermione and I could have accomplished had we taken nine years to hunt Riddle down.

"You will all please forgive me if I seem a bit stand-offish, but having spent the last nine or so months avoiding detection makes one rather used to blending in to shadows. As I see no more need to avoid detection, though, for Merlin's sake let's tuck in. We'll need much strength to bury our dead in the coming days. But tonight isn't about mourning. Rather it is about celebrating what brought down Riddle, and that was love. So let's celebrate love like it deserves to be celebrated and throw the loudest party Hogwarts has ever seen! To Love!" And Harry raised his glass of lingonberry wine in a toast.

"To Love!" replied the assembled. Harry sat down and the feast had begun. Had the kitchen taken much damage during the battle, one would not have known seeing the spread laid out on each of the six forty-foot long tables, two having been added for the occasion. On each table, all manner of sausages and steaks were accompanied by roasted leg of lamb, roast goose and Shepherd's pie. There were potatoes galore, with carrots, parsnips and turnips also available, but the root vegetables were joined by asparagus and summer squash, each perfectly toothsome yet tender, and seasoned with dill and butter. All was served family style, and plates and heaping bowls of food were being passed with glee throughout the Great Hall. At the head table, Winky and Kreacher were taking orders and serving the guests of honour personally. Ron was quite happy to have "a wee taste of everything, thanks". Hermione was satisfied with goose breast, asparagus, carrots and potatoes, and had managed to conjure a tablecloth for the head table so that her game of competitive-footsy with Ron would go unnoticed by the rest of the guests. Ginny had only a look of disbelief with tears in her eyes. And for Harry, a side order of bewilderment.

"Oh, bugger. I've embarrassed you beyond all hope, haven't I, Ginny?"

"Well, yes, but that's rather besides the point, Harry. Oh dear, you think I'm upset, don't you? Well, you were a bit exuberant up there, darling, but I just feel as though I've been rather silly."

"How so, love?"

"Well, I've been a bit cheesed off these last few months, to be honest, thinking I've been left behind doing nothing to help but keep the DA running, and there you go telling this whole lot that I've been there as much as you have. And what's more, rather than brushing it off as mere platitude, you've convinced me." A smile blossomed on Harry's face.

"You understand now, I take it. That when I've been telling you I need to keep you safe, it's not because I don't think we could have won with you, it's because I knew we couldn't have won without you." Ginny nodded softly in acknowledgement, smiling.

"Right, well then. There's this whole big feast here, love, and we ought to have some of it. If this is going to be a night to celebrate love, you are going to need your strength!"

Ginny blushed a colour that paint-mixers ought to name 'Weasley Red', and ordered some of the roast pork, potatoes, and parsnips. Harry dined on Shepherd's pie and the smile of the love of his life, who was smiling so hard she thought her face would never get back to its normal condition. Harry's only thought was keeping that smile her face's normal condition.

After treacle tart (the only dessert served), the tables were pulled to the edges of the hall, the Firewhiskey and other imbibements flowed freely, and raucous music from a thrown-together band could be heard all the way to Hogsmeade. No one seemed to mind that they hadn't the faintest idea how to dance; the sheer exuberance of the moment led them and their bodies once on the floor, aching bodies somehow found the energy to viscerally express the joy mere intellect couldn't quite process. Professor McGonagall lasted a good twenty minutes before needing to sit down, but after a five-minute respite, she grabbed Hagrid by the beard and went on dancing. Molly and Arthur Weasley were keeping up well, as was most of the Hogwarts staff. Kingsley Shacklebolt surprised everyone with his stylish moves, while Professor Flitwick's crowd-surfing antics became the stuff of legend.

Most of those who were not dancing had taken Harry's suggestion to celebrate love very much to heart, and had found secluded (and some not-so-secluded) corners in which to express love, lust, or even simple relief at being alive. Fast couples were formed throughout the Great Hall, an empty broomcloset was hard to come by, and couples having been in the works found cheating death as good a reason as any to celebrate life together for the first time.

Hermione and Ron, having spent the morning blazing straight through the physical nature of "getting to know you", were slow-dancing to fast songs, talking about nothing important. Hermione was nodding her head feigning interest in the Cannons' chances should the Quidditch league begin again in September, while Ron was too busy watching the curve of Hermione's lips as she was talking about something or other.

"It was like third-year Arithmancy, Ronald. Had Riddle seen that the conjunction of 31/7 and … You've not heard a word I've said, have you?"

"No, Hermione. I'm just watching your lips move. Reckon I've come up with thirty-seven different ways I'd like to kiss them by now, though."

"I said 'thirty-one and – mmfff!" And for the moment at least, arithmancy was one of the farthest things from Hermione's mind. They danced, lips firmly locked together, for hours, occasionally popping up for air to remind themselves of each others' eye color. Completely mindless of the music's tempi, they swayed back and forth in perfect communion, concentrating years of pent-up passion and months not knowing whether they'd survive long enough to requite their feelings into a few hours of magic.

Five minutes after the music stopped, Ginny turned to Harry. They'd sat at the head table most of the party, occasionally getting up to dance, but mostly soaking in the scene, drawing much-needed strength from the merriment at hand.

"Do you reckon we ought to let them know the band has stopped?" she asked, bemused.

"I don't know about you, Gin, but I think they're much better off left right where they are. This castle needs love like that to begin to heal itself, and if I can think of two people who love each other as much as I do you, it's your brother and Hermione."

Ginny softly slid her throne-like chair right up against Harry's. Rather pointedly, she grabbed hold of one of his hands, and with the other tilted his chin so he was forced to look her in the eyes, rather than wistfully at the dance floor. "You know, Mr Potter, I do believe that was the first time you've ever told me you love me."

"Is it now?" asked Harry in all curiosity. "Well, I'd always thought it was one of those things, rather plain as day. The sun rises in the east, the Chudley Cannons are at the bottom of the table, and I love one Miss Ginny Weasley."

"Oh really?" replied Ginny mischievously. "That cut and dried, is it? Well, Harry, since you seem to have all of your feelings of love figured out, perhaps you can spend the next eight to twelve hours telling me in _great_ detail how you came to these conclusions." And a look blossomed on Harry's face that would remind one of a cat with a mouthful of canary feathers.

"Telling you all that is not going to be easy, love. I'm going to have to make some preparations. Why don't you go ahead and break up Torvill and Dean out there – sorry, Muggle thing – Hermione and Ron, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes?" Ginny, giddy with anticipation, kissed Harry fervently on the lips and bounded toward the dance floor.

"Kreacher," called Harry, "could you come here a moment?"

Kreacher arrived, bowing lowly. "Master Harry, how may Kreacher serve?"

"Kreacher, please tell me the condition of 12 Grimmauld Place."

"Oh, Master Harry, Kreacher is aggrieved to tell you that those nasty men in black robes and masks made a right mess of the home of the Noble House of Black. Tore through the library, smashed crockery, simply dreadful they were. Kreacher took two weeks to set things right."

"So, 12 Grimmauld Place is in livable condition then?"

"Oh yes, Master Harry, and I think you'll like that Kreacher spruced it up in a way that you, Master Ron and Mistress Hermione will appreciate more. Your tastes do run a bit different than my old Mistress's."

Harry could barely contain his happiness. "Kreacher, you've been a wonder. And you're as much a war hero as any of us. No more of this 'Master Harry' nonsense. Whether or not you're legally property is a discussion I'd rather not have now, but I'd appreciate it very much if while you're in my service, you refer to me and to my friends by their given names. You've certainly earned it. Now, please go home and expect myself and Ginny to arrive within the half-hour." Overcome with gratitude and wonder at this Human Wizard who showed such kindness, Kreacher bowed and Disapparated.

The easy part of Harry's plan taken care of, he got up and walked over to the table where Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur and Percy Weasley were sitting. Harry cleared his throat and a warbled "Mr and Mrs Weasley, may I have a moment of your time in private please?" burst forth like a swamp expelling a methane bubble.

"Of course, Harry," said Arthur brusquely, as the Weasley parents got up from their seats and followed Harry out of earshot of the rest of the family.

"With, er, your permission, I'd like to take Ginny home with me to Grimmauld Place for a few days." Arthur drew a deep breath, composing himself before responding.

"Harry, Molly and I rather expected you and Ginny might want to spend some time alone after all this, but a few days?"

"Mr Weasley, Ginny and I haven't seen each other in nearly a year. We've been bombarded with well-wishers since the battle, and while the Burrow is more home to me than anywhere else on earth, Ginny and I have matters to discuss of some delicacy. And the Burrow is, one might say, a bit crowded at times." Arthur paused, and then sighed resignedly.

"Bring her home tomorrow for lunch, and we'll see about where she'll spend her last summer of childhood then. Molly? You seem pensive, dear."

"It's been quite the couple of days, Arthur," she said with a hint of aggravation in her voice. "Yes, I'm pensive. I've just killed a woman. I've lost a son. The youngest of my children is growing up a wee bit quicker than I might have liked, but there's not a thing I can do about it, is there? I suppose there wasn't much my parents could have done, either. Yes, Harry dear, have her home tomorrow for lunch. Around one o'clock, if you please. Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes, Mrs Weasley?"

"You've led a war, defeated an evil wizard and saved a wizarding nation. You're no ordinary seventeen-year-old, but you're seventeen nonetheless. Be careful with that heart of yours. Yes, Arthur and I are an example of young people who've made a relationship work, but we're the exception. This is nothing I wouldn't – and haven't – told any of my other children. Were it another girl – who was that weepy one Ginny was going on about a couple years back, anyway? – I'd be just as concerned. In fact, I see two of my children over there who are going to get the same advice. Just be careful, Harry, not only with our daughter, but with yourself." Molly extended her arms to embrace Harry, which she did along with a soft kiss to his forehead. She then took her leave, and walked over to where Hermione, Ron and Ginny were chatting. Arthur grabbed Harry by the elbow.

"Harry, remember too that that's an underage witch you're taking home. No magic outside of Hogwarts, and that means none."

"Yes, sir. And thank you, sir. I will certainly take good care of your daughter," was Harry's only possible response. After a hearty back-slapping embrace, Harry went back to the head table in a rather pensive mood himself. Yes, it had been quite the couple of days. He had broken into Gringotts, flown a dragon, led a battle, defeated Voldemort, and had seen quite a bit of death. Too much death. And if he was to be the Master of Death, he was going to be the last one. He felt the strange wand in the folds of his robes next to his own, and knew he wasn't quite finished. He also knew he was no longer alone. The darkest parts of what he had had to do, had seen, these he had always kept from Ron and Hermione – for awhile, at least. He no longer had that luxury.

Ginny was bright with anticipation as she made her way back to the head table. The shackles of her childhood had somehow dropped with her mother's acceptance of her staying the night with Harry. Certainly she would grieve, but she would not do so alone, and her grief would be acknowledged by peers, rather than by protectors. But tonight was not about grief – there would be time later for that. Tonight was about love. Tonight was about …

"Ginny, can we step outside a moment, please?"

"Of course, love, want to get a last look at the old place, then?"

"No. Please, just come with me. And get under this – I don't want to be followed." Harry slipped his invisibility cloak over top of them, and the young couple made their way out of the Great Hall and onto the grounds. Once they were a safe distance from any late hangers-on, Harry took off the cloak.

"Gin, if we're going to do this, if we're really going to be together, you are going to have to know everything. Some of it is quite unpleasant – there has been some very dark magic at work in my life over the last four years. Right now I need you to come with me, and help me do something. Professor Dumbledore's tomb was desecrated by Riddle to get this wand. I am now this wand's master, and I need to entomb it back with the professor, so that no one can claim it ever again. I know you've seen death, but this may be a bit more gruesome than you or I can imagine. He's been dead nearly a year, you know. Will you come with me?"

"Of course I will. If you tell me you need me, Harry, I will be there. Promise." She took Harry's hand with all of the confidence youth can muster. And they walked on.

When they approached the tomb, they stopped. The lid of the sarcophagus had been hewn in half with precision, and the removed half was resting next to the base of the tomb. There was a faint odor of rot enveloping the area. Harry adroitly scaled the marble, and Ginny followed. Their beloved headmaster lay in front of them, eyes shut and caving in, beard crumbling, leathery skin revealing patches of bone. Ginny quickly jumped down and vomited. Harry placed the wand in the crease that it had formed over a year of decay, and climbed down to assist Ginny.

Harry was holding Ginny's hair out of the way as she finished, stroking her face lovingly. Ginny produced a mild _Aguamenti_ spell to rinse out her mouth and chuckled.

"Right. Some help I was, eh?"

"You didn't need to come up there with me. I do need help with repairing the damage done to the tomb, though. Think you've recovered, or shall I give you a moment?"

"No, let's get this done, love. We have important things to discuss, if you remember" Ginny smiled and Harry blushed. With the considerable strength of Ginny and Harry's magic combined, the hewn sarcophagus cover was replaced and repaired. A _Protego Totalum _and several other wards were then cast over the tomb, and Harry's great task was complete at last.

The pair Apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place straightaway from the headmaster's tomb. The atmosphere could not have been more different. From the entryway they could see the warm glow of candlelight. In the dining room, the table was set for two. Golden candlesticks held long white tapers, charmed not to burn down. The table linens were crimson silk, and the service bone china and silver. Sparkling wine was on ice in a silver champagne bucket, and the flutes were lead crystal. On the table was an assortment of chocolate-dipped strawberries, petits-fours and truffles. In the main sitting room was a lit fireplace, two mugs of hot cocoa, and a small platter of biscuits. The couch was ready and inviting with a warm blanket. On the table with the cocoa and biscuits was a stem vase holding a single red rose that had yet to bloom.

"I don't want to know what he's done to the bedroom," thought Harry, as the couple chose the cosy warmth of the fire over the elegance of the dining room and sat down next to each other timidly.

"Kreacher's outdone himself," remarked Ginny, as she sipped her perfectly warm cocoa. She brought her knees up onto the couch, curled in a comfortable ball, drinking in the surroundings and all that they meant. The last time she had been in this house it was headquarters for a guerilla army. She hadn't taken time to appreciate its decaying opulence. And now it was an almost surreptitious love-nest for her and the man of her childhood fantasies and teenaged dreams.

"I'd give him a raise," quipped Harry, "if only he wouldn't see it as an insult." Harry's attention was focused elsewhere. What had changed for him was the strikingly beautiful redhead sitting across from him. A torturous year had taken its toll on Ginny as well. The glisten in her eyes, while still present, was somehow more faint, more distant. He saw the Gryffindor bravery shine through the grief of her brother's death and the anguish and relief of his own short time on the other side. He saw the patina of war-weariness on the resplendent heroine, who had jumped into his arms a year earlier to share a long-expected first kiss. And through the filter of his love for and want of her, he saw a sixteen-year-old witch, curled up on a couch at his house, wondering what was expected of her that night.

"Ginny, let's trade stories. Most of my story will probably be all over the _Daily Prophet_ over the next weeks, but I want you to hear it first. Your story will probably not hit the papers, but it's no less heroic, and I want to hear it." And they did just that. For hours the talk was of swords in lakes and detentions, of Cruciatus curses at the hands of the Carrows and Dobby's defiance of his old master, and the nobility of his death. They spoke of love and longing for each other; of dots on maps and hints through underground wireless reports. Of the strength given by classmates to go on when all seemed lost, and the thought of one more kiss before a brief trip through death itself. Harry convinced Ginny that Ron wasn't _that_ much of a git for leaving Hermione and him for a while, and Ginny spoke in glowing terms of Neville's heroism throughout the year. The cocoa and biscuits had long been finished, and yawns were punctuating most of their stories when they both decided they ought to get some sleep before Flooing to the Burrow for lunch.

The only alteration Kreacher had made to Sirius's room was the removal of Sirius's Muggle pin-ups. The bed was soft, with a luxurious duvet and a layer of down on top of the mattress. It was Ginny's suggestion that Harry wait in the adjoining loo while she got ready for bed. Harry changed into pyjama bottoms while waiting, but when he was called back into the bedroom, he found himself quite overdressed for the occasion.

"I thought you might like this outfit," giggled Ginny as she lifted up a corner of the duvet. Harry drew a deep breath at what he found underneath. Ginny was wearing nothing but a pair of doe-eyes and a nervous smile. Harry found himself admiring his ladylove from head to toe; from the curve of her neck to her pert teenaged breasts, from the slope of her hips to the triangle of red-thatch where her Quidditch-strengthened legs met. He admired those legs all the way to her painted toenails. And he took his time about it. He had imagined this sight many, many times; had done the undressing for her with his mind more times than he could count. To see her, finally, was breathtaking.

"So, do you like what you see?" Ginny was anxious for an answer, but hid it carefully behind a sly smirk and a come-hither gaze.

"Oh, Ginny …" was Harry's only answer as he climbed into bed beside her. He grabbed her tender face and pulled it toward his own, kissing her deeply, passionately. Hands, arms, legs were all a-tangle as the lovers worked out the mechanics of a situation they had never had the opportunity to find themselves in before. Harry explored her body with all the care and detail teenage sex affords – using her reactions to roughly gauge what was good and what wasn't so good. Ginny tugged longingly at the waistband of Harry's pyjamas, and they were quickly doffed. Ginny had done some imagining of her own as to what she might find there, and enjoyed her discovery whole-heartedly. Harry continued to map out Ginny's body as his mind wandered. How long had he waited for this. How many nights was this moment what got him through to the next day? How did knowing that this was waiting for him keep him sane at Malfoy Manor, as Ron was screaming Hermione's name while she was enduring _Crucio_ after _Crucio_. How else did he endure seeing all those innocents die at Riddle's hand. How many were there? Fifty? How many other orphans were created that night. He knew of his godson, but was sure there would be others. What would become of them …?

"Harry, is everything alright?"

"Ginny, I'm so sorry – I know you've probably wanted this as long as I have, but I simply can't tonight. It's too soon. Too much has happened. Too much death – senseless, senseless death. I'm sorry, Ginny. We will – and it will be brilliant. You are brilliant, more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined, and I'm the luckiest bloke in the world, and probably the most mental for not continuing, but Ginny, it's too soon. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Harry curled his head onto Ginny's breast and held her by her waist.

"Harry, love. Shh." Ginny kissed the top of his head. "That's just fine. To be honest, I was a bit nervous myself. This is more than I can imagine just lying here next to you, uncovered, unprotected and completely yours. My love, we'll have other opportunities. Why don't we just get those couple hours of sleep and try to look presentable when we arrive for lunch?"

As they drifted off to sleep, Harry couldn't help thinking himself a fool. Ginny couldn't help but wonder when the tables had turned, and she had become the comforter, rather than the comforted.


	3. 3: Home

Chapter Three: Home

Molly Weasley woke at six, as she did every morning. She put a kettle on the stove to make herself some tea. 'Arthur will be down in a bit,' she thought, 'but Ron and Hermione might need some convincing to get down for breakfast.' George, well, she wasn't going to push him. If he was hungry, he'd come down. If not, she'd whip him up something when he was. And that was it – the five of them. Molly generally enjoyed this respite before her teeming house sprung to life. Today, however, the silence was anything but comfort. She wished she could have her eight-year-old Gin-Gin, or her nine-year-old Ron run through the kitchen looking for a bowl of porridge with honey. And her older boys, where were they? She looked at the family clock with a heavy heart and weary eyes. Bill – Home. That would be Shell Cottage with Fleur. Charlie – Home. That's in Romania of all places. Percy – Home. Molly hoped he'd been able to find better accommodations than the flat she had last seen. Fred – Home. But one Molly wouldn't see for quite awhile. George and Ronald, they were accounted for. She paused a bit before her eyes really understood the last hand. Ginevra – Home. 'My my,' thought Molly, more bemused by what she saw than anything else, 'perhaps she is.'

Noon came early for Harry and Ginny, with Ginny awakening first at about five before the hour. Taking the same liberties she had allowed Harry the night before, she let her eyes wander over the naked form of her sleeping love, remarking on the definition that had developed in his back and shoulders since she had last seen him without a shirt. As her eyes moved lower, she contemplated a firm pinch on the young man's arse, but thought better of it, as waking him would spoil her moment. She had just lain back down beside him and began tracing a lazy line along his thigh with her finger when noon struck. Harry rolled over gently.

"Been staring long enough, have you? Reckon you've got your fill for a while? Hope so, 'cause I haven't a clue what your mum and dad are going to say about you spending another night here anytime soon."

"You cheeky git! You were awake then?"

"That I was, but right now you have me at a distinct disadvantage, milady." Harry then put on his glasses and paused, nearly devouring the sight of his love, bare but for a halo of sunshine peeking through the drapery. "Merlin, Gin, you're even more stunning in the daylight." Ginny blushed and threw Harry's pyjama bottoms at him playfully.

"Randy prat! We've got to get a move on. Don't want to think what mum will say if we arrive a second past one." Harry slipped on the bottoms and grabbed Ginny gently around the waist.

"This waking up together bit – a bloke could get used to this," Harry whispered in her ear. Ginny's laughter nearly burst out of her in happiness. She too could get 'used to this'. She pinned his shoulders down on the bed and snogged him breathless for a good thirty seconds, not knowing or caring if she was giving him a reward for saying something so sweet, or merely taking care of her own present needs.

"There," she said, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Now, get up before I have to resort to more drastic measures." Harry knew precisely what she meant, and knew that this was his cue to get moving. By five before one in the afternoon, they had showered, dressed and were standing at the fireplace feeling quite silly and looking rather nervously at each other.

"Floo powder, Harry?"

"Wasn't a real priority, love. The last time I was here, the Floo network was controlled by the Ministry, and the Ministry was controlled by Riddle. I reckon we're just going to have to Apparate over there."

"But the wards!"

"I know where they are, and we'll go just outside of them and walk in. We'll only be a minute or two late."

Harry took Ginny on his arm, and the two of them Apparated into what could only be described as pandemonium. At the edge of the wards to the Burrow were scores of reporters, some even from foreign countries, who had heard that The Boy Who Lived Yet Again might be at this address. As the young couple arrived with an inexperienced wizard's loud crack, they were besieged by flashing cameras and quick-quote quills and elbowing reporters asking questions like 'Harry, have you avenged your parents?' and 'Harry, how do you feel now that You-Know-Who is dead?' and 'Harry, how'd you finally off the bastard?' Harry himself began to shake, not knowing who to talk to first, or what to say or where to look, and he grasped Ginny's arm tightly.

The magic possessed by the seventh child of a seventh child is not something to be trifled with. Had the reporters on the scene done their research, they might have been a bit more prepared for the protection Harry had. Ginny Weasley was incensed, and her time in Dumbledore's Army had taught her how to focus that tremendous energy. She placed her wand to her throat and muttered, "_Sonorus"_. And then in a voice so loud Harry was sure half of Ottery St. Catchpole would need to be _Obliviated_ , she bellowed:

"WILL YOU ALL PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP!"

The reporters did, thinking perhaps this was their chance to get a story, if not necessarily the one they came for. Ginny continued, her voice still quite amplified by her charm.

"It's not enough that you bloody vultures have to hound the man that is the only reason some of you are still alive today, but do you have to disturb my family as we're trying to grieve the loss of a brother and a son? You wanted a word? By Merlin, I have four of them for you!" Ginny raised her wand, pointing it at the reporters. Her somehow redder than usual hair was blown back by a sudden breeze. She lowered her shoulders, raised her head, took a deep breath, and with all of the magical power she could muster shouted:

"_Vespertilii Nasi Petite Totalis!"_

And on the faces of no less than eighty-seven reporters, cameramen and hangers-on appeared bats. Hundreds of bats flew out of the noses of each of those that had come for a piece of whatever they could get from The Boy Who Lived. The sky was as thick with bats as an underground cave, each attacking the face from which it emerged.

Ginny continued, "And now, get the hell out of our way. We're late for lunch as it is. And when any Weasley, Potter or Granger has anything to say to you wankers, we're going to be good and bloody ready, and we will let you know. Until then, would you all please kindly bugger off!" She tapped her throat again and whispered, "_Quietus._" Harry and Ginny then walked arm-in-arm towards the Burrow, where Ron, Hermione, Molly, Arthur and George had been watching Ginny's performance. As they got close enough to hear, Molly cleared her throat suggestively, and pointed back to the reporters.

"But, Mum, I did say 'Please'." Molly was unmoved.

"Must I? Very well then." And with a huff, Ginny turned around, pointed her wand at the retreating swarm of bats and muttered, "_Finite Incantatem._" Ron looked pointedly at Harry.

"Did you catch all of that, mate? You sure you know what you're signing up for with that one?"

"Quite. Thanks for the warning though, Ron." Harry playfully slugged Ron on the shoulder, beamed, looked at his protectress, and followed her into the Burrow's kitchen.

'The best house I've ever been in' is how Harry first described the Weasley family residence. That day it had been alive with the bustle of seven breakfasts, a mishandled butter dish, and tales of a daring rescue mission in a flying car. This afternoon, however, the pall to which Molly awoke remained as thick as ever. As they walked through the kitchen door, Harry greeted the only family he'd ever known with the kind of lingering embraces one gives the grieving.

Lunch was sandwiches passed around on a platter, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. The smiles that had been on the faces of Ron and Harry in the garden had been quenched by then, and an eerie stillness left a lingering chill over what had always been the warmest place Harry had ever known. After his third sandwich, Harry couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"Had the reporters been there long?" he asked, to no one in particular.

"They arrived this morning. I'm so glad Mr Weasley put those wards up as soon as we got here. By eight this morning the road was thick with them." Hermione was the second to offer her drop of dialogue into the vast silence. But that was the extent of the luncheon conversation. George was the first to leave the table. He headed straight for his half-empty bedroom. After Hermione and Molly had cleared the table, Arthur cleared his throat. He had been searching for a way to begin the conversation all present knew they must have, but he hadn't a clue where to begin. So he picked the first thought that came to his head when looking at the four youths sitting around him.

"You four … you're war heroes now. You're not children, and you oughtn't be treated as such. Harry and Hermione, I'd rather you refer to Molly and I by our given names. Merlin, call us mum and dad if you'd rather – you're as much my children as these two here." Arthur pointed to Ron and Ginny as he said this. He paused a bit before continuing "We know the four of you fancy each other a great deal, and we know trying to keep you apart would only improve your abilities to sneak around." Arthur took another deep breath. "Molly, go on and tell them what you saw this morning." Molly walked over to the family clock and read off some names.

"Bill – Home. George – Home. Ronald – Home. Ginevra – Home. This morning when I got up it also read 'Home'. Ginny darling, your home seems to be wherever Harry is, and your father and I are not going to keep you from your home. But we've talked about it, and we have a few conditions before we let our sixteen-year-old daughter live an entire summer with her boyfriend. Lucky for you, my dear, one of the conditions is Harry's to accept."

Flustered and a bit taken aback, Harry asked, "What is that condition?"

Arthur answered quickly and brusquely, "That you allow Ronald and Hermione to live with you at Grimmauld Place."

Harry looked at his two best friends. "Did you two know anything about this?"

"Sure, mate," Ron piped up. "Dad had a chat with us this morning about it. Of course we both thought it was brilliant, and after this last year, I'm rather used to having you and Hermione around. Plus, someone will have to keep an eye on this one." And he pointed at his sister, smiling. "Well, Harry? It is your house after all – what do you say?"

"Are you really that thick, Ron? I was going to ask you to share the place with me anyway!" Harry playfully smacked the back of Ron's head.

"So it's a go then?" asked Ron. This time it was Hermione who smacked some sense into the lad.

"Yes, Ronald, it's a go. But as we have some – er – preparations to attend to, we should probably stay here until after the, well …"

"The funeral, dear. Freddy's funeral." Molly finished Hermione's sentence and then sat down quickly, staring blankly at her feet.

"Then Ginny and I should probably stay until then, too, if that's alright with you, Gin," Harry offered.

"What? Yes. Of course. Mum, what are the other conditions you mentioned? Mum?"

Molly was too enthralled by a scuffmark on her left boot to notice Ginny's question. Arthur composed himself enough to answer for her.

"Simply that the four of you show up for dinner each Sunday at two, and that Ginny allows us to see her off at the Hogwarts Express on the first of September." That was generally agreed to, and the plan was settled. Harry rested his arm on the back of Ginny's chair as the silence crept back into the room. He felt her quiver slightly, and placed his hand between her shoulder blades. That stilled the quivering for a moment. When it returned however, Ginny dashed up the stairs and slammed the door to her bedroom shut. Harry hadn't even seen Hermione mouth the words 'Follow her' before he was at her door. It wasn't locked, so he entered.

Molly had wanted her little Gin-Gin earlier that morning, but it was Harry who got to see a very, very sad little girl crying her eyes out lying on her childhood bed. She was a bawling, howling mess, with her face buried into her pillow. Harry closed the door behind him and sat on her bed. He cast a quick _muffliato_, so that Ginny could have her moment undisturbed. He stroked her hair gently, and when she let him, he pulled her close and held her while she continued to sob. Harry remembered the mechanics of comforting a crying girl from his fifth year, and he put these to good use with Ginny.

After awhile, Ginny sat up and began to talk. First she apologised for being such a wreck, which Harry dismissed immediately. Then she began to talk about Fred. She told Harry every tale she could think of concerning herself and the twins. There were 'borrowed' brooms after the twins helped her with the _Alohomora _spell, and a certain list of goods she helped hide from Molly 'for a while, at least'. They reminisced together about the age line from her third year, about taking the piss out of Percy when he started dating Penelope, about extendable ears and about U-No-Poo. Harry was satisfied that this was helping Ginny, as she seemed to calm down. After she was fully composed, she kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for being 'such a good listener'.

"Oh, I must be an awful, blotchy mess!" she then exclaimed, and darted upstairs to the bathroom. Harry remained seated on Ginny's bed. He was trying to remember the conversation, trying to remember what he had said to Ginny that made her stop crying, in case he needed it later, of course. But he couldn't think of it. Ginny re-emerged about ten minutes later and sat down next to Harry.

"You're taking all of this surprisingly well, Potter. What's your secret?" she asked.

"What do you mean, Gin?"

"Well, I know Fred is more my brother than he is yours, but there's been Remus and Tonks and Colin and so many others. How are you holding it together so well?"

"Practice, I guess," he replied. "There was also Mad-Eye, Hedwig, Dumbledore, Sirius, Cedric. I guess after awhile I just realised that death is simply something that happens to people. And after seeing the other side, well, it's not so bad. Rather looks like King's Cross. Sure I miss them – miss them all terribly."

"But you told me that if something were to happen to me --" Ginny was interrupted by Molly calling up the stairs.

"Harry, Ginny! Come back down here, we have company!"

"We'll talk more about it tonight, if you like, Gin," Harry said, and helped his best girl to her feet. They walked hand in hand down the stairs quietly, and turned into the sitting room. Harry took a quick breath as he couldn't help but see the likeness of Bellatrix Lestrange in her sister, Andromeda Tonks, who had brought Teddy Lupin around to meet his godfather.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Tonks," said Harry after his split-second realisation that he did not have to reach for his wand.

"Harry Potter, if you are going to continue to mistake me for my dead sister, I should rather take your 'Dumbledore's Army' lessons and improve my _Protego_ spell," replied Andromeda, smiling. She then continued, "Harry, I'd like you to meet your godson, Teddy Lupin." She held the infant out to him, and as Harry took his godson into his arms, a brightness that had been missing from his eyes returned. Harry rocked the boy gently and held out a finger for Teddy to grasp.

"Hi there, little moppet. My name is Harry. I'm your godfather." Teddy responded with something that sounded like a gurgle. "That's right," continued Harry, "and that means it's my job to help your gran give you as much love as I can. And when you're old enough to understand, I'll tell you stories about your parents, like your dad told me stories about mine."

The others in the room were all taken aback at the frankness with which Harry had spoken of their guest's recently killed daughter and son-in-law. But they were equally shocked with how quickly Harry had taken to little Teddy, and vice-versa. Molly shot a look at Ginny, who couldn't possibly notice, transfixed as she was by the unfolding scene. Hermione snuggled a little tighter into Ron's arms, and little Teddy Lupin suddenly became the Patronus that drove out that afternoon's Dementor.

As is wont to happen with babies, Teddy was being passed around the room. Harry took this time to speak with Andromeda alone.

"Mrs Tonks, if you don't have a fully-stocked nursery, please, let me go pick up a few things for Teddy. Does he need a pram, or one of those tables for nappie-changing, or – "

"Harry, he has all of those things. What he doesn't have is a man about. And for Merlin's sake, dear boy, call me Andromeda. Teddy doesn't need your money, Harry. And I know you have plenty, and you'll wind up spoiling him anyway. But what he needs is your time and your love. And of love, I dare say he's not going to be without, not from what I've seen here today. Remus and Dora couldn't have picked a better godfather."

As the afternoon turned to evening, Andromeda, Molly and Arthur retired to the kitchen, while the younger folks had a chance to play with the baby. They didn't notice, but over the course of the day Teddy's hair turned more and more red, until it was a bright magenta. He also began to fuss, which turned into squirming. As he was laid down, he began to scream. Harry rushed over to pick him up, walked him around a bit, but he was tired. He wouldn't stop. Harry's face turned to worry, and Ginny took the boy for a moment. His face was still as red as his hair. And his screams were just as loud. George appeared at the top of the stairs to see what the commotion was all about.

"Oi! Can't a bloke get any sleep around here without some ruddy baby screaming?"

"George," Harry said gently, "that's not just any ruddy baby. That's Remus and Tonks's son Teddy, my godson."

"Right. Well then, let's have a look at him." George picked up the screaming infant and placed him over his shoulder. The howls stopped, and were replaced with a coo.

"Blimey. Look at that, George," remarked Ron, "the kid's turned himself into a saint, too!" And it was true. Teddy had found the hole in the side of George's head quite amusing, and mimicked it himself.

"Has he now? Let's see, then!" And a smile lit across George's face as he saw the hole in the side of Teddy's head.

"Oi, Weasley!" shouted Harry, chuckling. "Watch you don't change his hair, too!" But it was too late. Magenta had turned into ginger, and Teddy Lupin, at least at that moment, was a Weasley.

The elder Weasleys and Andromeda re-appeared puffy-eyed into the sitting room. Andromeda was a bit taken aback by Teddy's new look, but assured the family that the ear will have been replaced by the time they got home. She wrapped the baby up, gathered together the bag of his things, and Flooed back to her home. Harry had agreed to visit at least on weekends, and he would have a nursery available for Teddy should Andromeda ever need some time alone. George, despite the pleadings from his family, trudged back up to his room and back to sleep, which is how he had spent most of his time since returning to the Burrow. Arthur's respite was his shed, and he retreated there. Ginny watched with some amusement as Ron continued his efforts to teach Hermione the finer strategic points of Wizard Chess.

For his part, Harry had cornered Molly in the kitchen. He knew he owed the Weasleys a debt that couldn't be measured in galleons, but he also knew that he would spend his life doing what he could to repay the kindness he had received from them for seven years. For that at least, there was no more time to wait.

"Molly," he said, gingerly opening the conversation, "I'd like to go with Arthur tomorrow to pick up Fred."

"Harry, you needn't prove yourself to this family," she countered. "I know you want to help, and I will certainly use your help, but please don't feel as though you need to be heroic around us, dear. We're your family." As soon as she said this, she realised her very poor choice of words. Harry was irked, but this only strengthened his resolve.

"Molly, I've 'played hero' enough for one lifetime, that's bloody well certain. But I am not going to stand by idly while the one family on earth that took me in is in pain. While _my_ family is in pain. You can barely stand up straight, Arthur's locked himself in his shed, George can't get out of bed, Ron and Hermione are focusing on each other so as not to feel the loss, and Ginny's doing her level best to grieve like a sister. But I'm here, and I've seen more death in four years than all of you in your lives combined. Let me help. Let me take this funeral arrangement from you, so you can grieve your son properly." Harry put his arms around his surrogate mother as she broke down sobbing. "I'll take that as permission. But I am going to call in some help for the planning. Kreacher?" Harry called, and the house-elf appeared.

"Master Harry has need of Kreacher this evening? How may Kreacher serve?"

"First of all, what did I tell you about that 'Master' business? Secondly, I need your help. This is my family, the Weasleys. They lost a son in the battle at Hogwarts two nights ago, and are going to need much help preparing a funeral. Would you mind assisting me in the preparations?" The house-elf bowed low toward Molly.

"Kreacher is most honoured to serve the noble house of Weasley however he can in their time of grief. Master must only say what he needs and when, and it will be done for you, Mistress Molly."

"Thank you, Kreacher. Feel free to go back home. And please set up the master bedroom and one other while you are there. I will call for you when preparations are necessary for the funeral, but the four of us shall be staying here for the next couple of days." Kreacher bowed, smiling, pleased to serve his Master Harry. He Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, and Molly was left a little speechless as she continued to dab at her watering eyes.

"Harry, you have a house-elf? And it's that same elf that was so dreadful when the Order was staying at your house?"

"Yet another bit of genius on Hermione's part, Molly. She reckoned that Sirius had been just as horrid to Kreacher as Kreacher had been to us. And sure enough, after a bit of kindness on our parts, Kreacher came around. Right handy to have about, too. Why don't we sit for a while, and you tell me what you'd like to see at Freddy's funeral, who you'd like to invite, how much or how little food you'd like afterwards, and let me take it from there. If George is up to it, I'll get his input tomorrow as well."

Molly and Harry spoke for the next hour, planning the niceties that surrounded her worst nightmare. George had stumbled down to the kitchen during their chat, and was able to mutter a few things that added up to "Don't make it too bloody maudlin, or I'll have to add my own special treats to the spread." By 10pm or so, Harry had plenty of ideas, and sent Molly and George off to bed. The sitting room was empty, so Harry lit a lamp and began composing the ceremony. Words were difficult to come by, though, and he spent quite a bit of time borrowing some of Hermione's books for research on wizard funerals. By half-past one, he was about two thirds of the way through when a voice from the top of the stairs startled him.

"Harry? Are you coming to bed soon, love?" It was Ginny, and she had waited up for him.

"Soon, darling. Don't wait up, but I'll be there soon." Had he been listening, he would have heard a sniffle coming from his beloved, one that by the time she reached her bed turned into sobs. By 3:30 though, when Harry finally slid into bed beside her, the sobs had faded into sleep, in which Harry joined in short order.


	4. Insert: The Funeral of Fred Weasley

Author's Note: Thanks to MrsDraco for asking to see the funeral in her lovely review. I was leaning towards simply mentioning it in the next chapter, but I'd never turn down a request from someone who took the time to review, and this turned out to be more fun to write than I thought it would be. The FictionAlley and SIYE (fingers are crossed) versions of this story probably won't have this chapter, which is really more of a "missing moment" than a chapter. Enjoy!

Insert: The Funeral of Fred Weasley

Roughly 75 witches and wizards attended the funeral at the Burrow on the 12th day of May, 1998. Most members of the Gryffindor Quidditch side from 1991 – 1995 attended, as did the entirety of Dumbledore's Army and what was left of the Order of the Phoenix, along with their families. Several of the Weasley Twins' neighbors at Diagon Alley turned out, including among others Madame Malkin, Mr Ollivander, and the manager of Flourish & Blotts. Instead of the standard ministry delegation sent to the funerals of those who lost their lives at the Battle of Hogwarts though, Minister Shacklebolt came personally, as he would for all Order funerals.

The ceremony began with Lee Jordan as pallbearer, levitating Fred's casket up through the aisle between the rows of seats. As the casket was brought through the seats, the assembled stood in respect. The casket was a bright purple, with images of Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs decorating the outside. When it reached the front of the gathering, the guests sat, while Lee began the ceremony with a few words of introduction.

"None of this is right. None of this is fair. We oughtn't have funerals for twenty-year-old war heroes. For Merlin's sake, we oughtn't have twenty-year-old war heroes. Fred gave his life so that we will never again need such wars or such heroes. Were that all there was to Fred, we would have plenty to share here today. But Fred was also a businessman, he was an inventor, and oh, by the way, he liked to play a joke or two.

"It is nearly impossible to think of Fred without thinking of his twin brother, George. The two men were inseparable – from their identical marks in school, to their pairing as beaters on the house Quidditch team, to co-owners of one of Diagon Alley's most successful new ventures in ages; they finished each other's sentences, and were nigh on indistinguishable. George, no one here knows what you're feeling right now, but please know that you are in our hearts and minds as you grieve.

"Harry told me that we would all be in some serious trouble if this ceremony turned out maudlin, but there's a bit of laughter that's just recently left the world, and in its place has come some anger, some confusion and a whole lot of sadness. That will take time to get over. But today we are here to celebrate a life, one who doled out more laughter in twenty years than most men do in a century. Fred left one very lasting memory on Hogwarts, and to help us relive that moment, I'd like Harry Potter to come tell us a bit about that day."

Harry, dressed in black robes appropriate for the occasion, walked up to where Lee had been standing and began to tell the tale of the swamp in the corridor.

"Any of you who were at Hogwarts in '94 –'95 remember the famous exit that Fred and George made that year. There was a swamp in the corridor outside what was then Dolores Umbridge's office. After the twins were caught red-handed, the two of them sped off on their brooms to tumultuous applause from most of the school, and a salute from Peeves. Except for a few people though, no one knows how or why that stunt was planned. Now, while covering Filch and Umbridge in portable swamp goo is a most worthy and noble goal in and of itself, they released the swamp as a diversion so that I could use Umbridge's floo to talk with my godfather for a few minutes. See, I had mentioned to Ginny one day in the library that I really needed to talk with Sirius, but that with the police state Hogwarts was under that year, I didn't see how it could be done. I still remember her response: 'The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you begin to think anything is possible. We'll get it done.' And get it done they did. The swamp was not only their final advertisement for the launch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, it was also a diversion they caused to help out a friend. Fred, this Whiz-bang is lit for you, a man who knew what being a friend was, and what it could cost." And Harry lit off the fireworks with this wand. Upon exploding in the air, the message spelled out "Friend".

"And now we will hear from Verity, who worked for Fred and George at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes until the day they had to close due to the war." And Lee brought Verity to the front. She was a natural speaking in front of people, as anyone would be who sold as many joke products as she.

"I was blessed to have Fred and George Weasley as my bosses for a little over a year. In that time I was fortunate to get to watch their inventive process a time or two. I had imagined it would go one of two ways, either they would be dead capitalistic about the whole thing, just putting on a façade for the public, or they would sit and joke around until they stumbled into the right mixture of ingredients that made something clever that they could sell. What I saw amazed me. Of course they were dead serious about their inventions, but what they were serious about wasn't simply an invention's profitability, but its impact. With each new product, their goal was to create a little more laughter in the world; to help pull a better prank or create a better joke. And _that's_ why we've been so successful. George and Fred always stayed true to their aim – and it was dead on." Verity lit a Whiz-bang that spelled out "Prankster" and another one that spelled out "Inventor", and she then took her seat.

After Verity had finished, Lee escorted Molly Weasley to the set of Whiz-bangs. When hers exploded it read "Son". Arthur Weasley's read the same. In order, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron and Ginny all lit Whiz-bangs reading "Brother". George followed behind, lighting one reading "Brother" and another reading "Twin". As the family filed through, they each stopped at Fred's coffin to whisper a few final goodbyes, and then went back to their seats. When they had sat down, Lee returned to the front and continued.

"Now, if you would each reach under your seats, you will find a Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bang. These have been charmed to explode into a word that describes what Fred meant in your life. Please go ahead and light them off now."

And the sky was aglow with words like "Friend", "Comrade-in-arms", "Teammate" and "Prankster". As the congregants were looking skyward for their words, Harry and Lee levitated the coffin into its grave, filled the grave, and set a tombstone in its place. The stone read:

Fred Weasley

1978-1998

Beloved Son, Brother and Twin

Mischief Managed

When the congregants had taken their seats, Lee thanked them for coming, and invited them to partake in the repast that had appeared behind them.

Kreacher, as expected, had completely outdone himself with the buffet. There was a tremendous variety of finger foods, including sandwiches of cucumber, watercress, smoked salmon and ham, the first three flavored with a simple garlic and dill aioli, and the ham with a stout mustard. There were pasties of several varieties, as well as deviled eggs, miniature spinach quiches, and a crudités platter. Scones were available with or without currants, and with clotted cream, marmalade and lemon curd to spread. Dessert items included an assortment of lemon bars and poppy seed bars, cut into whimsical shapes, as well as a ginger-spice sheet cake, covered in buttercream and decorated with animated fireworks. There was also a fully stocked bar, and a punch bowl. George was kept far from the punch bowl at all times, yet somehow several guests left the funeral with more feathers than they had arrived with. Folks milled about for several hours, paying their respects to the Weasleys, sharing memories of the twins, and catching up with friends they hadn't seen in far too long. Lee and Harry, as hosts of the event, thanked each guest for attending personally, and the affair was wrapped up by about 5:30 in the afternoon. By 6:00, Kreacher had broken down and cleaned up the buffet, and the chairs had all disappeared into thin air, as conjured items will do.

The Weasley family, including Fleur, Harry and Hermione retired to the Burrow after thanking Kreacher profusely for his assistance. Kreacher merely shook his head and said, "Kreacher is more than happy to assist the noble house of Weasley however he can, being that Master Harry, Master Ron and Miss Ginny is always so good to Kreacher. Too good to Kreacher." And he left with just a whisper of a pop. The entire family gathered in the sitting room for the first time in so long, it was the topic of conversation for a good 45 minutes. Ginny, perched on Harry's lap, whispered "thank-you" in his ear at least every five minutes, and the entire family agreed that it was a funeral of which Fred would have been proud, and all thanked Harry for his part in arranging it. Harry demurred and deflected much of the praise, as is his custom, and the Weasleys played along as they have been accustomed to doing for most of the time that Harry had been in their lives.

George lasted a surprising two hours in the sitting room. After he excused himself to go back to his room and sleep, Bill and Fleur made their exits, as did Percy. Charlie was staying the night in the room he and Bill had shared as children, and went to unpack. Molly and Arthur lasted another half-hour before retiring as well. Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry had a bit of planning to do, however. Their time at the Burrow was also coming to an end, and they would shortly move to Grimmauld Place together. There were logistics to be arranged, with some of Harry's things at Privet Drive ("Sod all that, they can keep it" was his response), and most of Hermione's belongings at her parents' house. There was also a matter of furnishing the house, as much of what was there could only be described as "ghastly". They decided that the logistics planning could wait until the morning, and that they would move in the following day, Thursday. Most of the night was spent with a bottle of dandelion wine, with Ron, Hermione and Ginny sharing dreams about their summer. There was an upcoming trip to Australia, cooking chores, general amazement of Kreacher's abilities, and "where the hell are we to find a pick-up Quidditch match in London?" on the table. Harry half-listened to the conversation, spent a good deal of time counting the freckles on Ginny's right cheek, and wondered somewhat how it came to be that he had a future to plan.

Around 11:00, the two couples retired for the evening. As they were getting ready for bed, Ginny cornered Harry on his silence in the sitting room.

"What is it, darling? You were so quiet." She slinked an arm up his shoulder to run her fingers through his hair suggestively. "Tell me what's on your mind, I might be able to help," she whispered in his ear.

"Oh. Right. It's nothing, Gin, it's just been a long day, and I wasn't quite up to keeping up with Hermione's prattle," he lied. "I'm bloody knackered, having been up till the wee hours last night, and I could use a good night's sleep."

They crawled into bed, where Ginny rather less than subtly offered him help to relax for the night, which Harry agreed could be helpful. Ginny has always followed through on promises made to someone she loves, and that night was no exception.


	5. 4: Playing House

Author's Note:

Thank you to all the reviewers and all who have this on their alerts list. Such things make plodding through the words that much easier. And if you have time, check out the forum "The Reviews Lounge". It's a great way to find well-written stories that have slipped the general radarscope.

And a special thank you for the positive feedback on the funeral insert. I'll now probably be including that in the beta-ed version. Check my profile for locations of that, if redundant vowels in the middle of perfectly good words turns you on. And with no further a-do:

Chapter Four: Playing House

The Burrow seemed to spring to life again the morning after Fred's funeral. Molly was in her element, juggling knives and pans and ingredients to put together breakfast for eight. Potatoes, sausage, tomatoes, white and black pudding, toast and tea all seemed to appear ready just as the next too-thin child wobbled his or her way down to the kitchen. George was the last to appear, but he had an appetite and a brightness about him that hadn't been present since his twin's death.

"Had a chat with Verity yesterday. Reckon I ought to check up on the inventory. She said she'd meet me at the shop 'round eleven or so."

Arthur tried not to jump out of his skin with excitement. Molly choked back tears she was determined not to let her son see.

"Son, that's wonderful. See that you get a good count, and make sure nothing's spoilt in the meanwhile." Arthur thought some fatherly advice would mask his budding hopefulness for his son's fragile disposition. George, being the consummate salesman, could read right through his father's attempts, but also knew better than to give this away.

"There shouldn't be much shrink due to spoilage. Very few of our ingredients turn, and our products are all charmed to enhance shelf life." He then turned to his younger siblings. "If any of you aren't busy this afternoon, many hands do make light work."

Ron and Ginny found that their plates had suddenly become quite interesting, and began to study them quite closely. Harry found a similar fascination in the kitchen's rafters. Hermione, finding her Gryffindor nature, offered a manner of explanation.

"Well George, any other day we would certainly love to help, but we've rather made plans to take stock of Grimmauld Place today. From what Harry tells us, Kreacher's done his best, but there's a good bit of spellwork and ward crafting to do, as well as some simply ghastly furniture. Molly, Arthur, we, well, we wanted to discuss this with you after breakfast, but we were going to start moving in today, if you are still alright with the plan we discussed the other day."

Molly circled around behind Hermione and kissed the top of her head, placing her hands on the young woman's shoulders. "Of course, dear. I'm sure this is all quite exciting for you lot, out on your own and such. George, if you don't mind having your old mum and dad around, your father has another week of family leave left, perhaps we could help you out. I know Charlie's on his way back to Romania today, but between your father's head for order and my organization skills, you might find a couple of old folks like us handy to have about."

"Mum, of course. I mean, I didn't think you'd… Well, I thought you didn't think highly of our business."

"George, honey. It took a bit of getting used to, but you and your brother have made off quite well for yourselves in that line of work, all things considered. And as long as it has the Weasley name on it, there ought to be at least a couple of Weasleys running about the place, don't you think?. Your father and I will show up at noontime, and I'll whip up a bit of lunch for the four of us." Arthur added his own encouragement.

"I know we haven't always said it son, but your mum and I are quite proud of the work you and Freddy put into that shop, and the results speak for themselves. I'm thrilled you want to get it back up and running."

"George, the four of us just need a bit to get our new place spruced up. You'll have more hands than you'll know what to do with in no time at all," Ron added, perking up considerably. "But yeah mum and dad, we've got to see about Grimmauld Place today. If for nothing else than to figure out how to get that horrid old bat of a portrait to shut her trap."

"Well, it's certainly a good thing we got that place cleaned up even as well as we did. I'm still not sure about that house-elf of yours, Harry," opined Molly, and the conversation turned to doxy infestations and troll-leg umbrella stands. For Hermione's sake, no one mentioned the Blacks' taste in taxidermy.

With a firm "If you won't be back in time for supper, floo to let us know, dears," Molly sent her children off to what would be their first house away from home. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione flooed over to 12 Grimmauld Place at about 10:30 in the morning and began to take stock of what was done and what still needed doing. Curtains and wallpaper could be easily transfigured, but there was only so much that could be done to the threadbare furniture in some of the rooms. Kreacher had already dealt with the most tasteless of the décor, but there were still several portraits that required disposition. Both Andromeda Tonks and (with some misgiving) Narcissa Malfoy were contacted via Pigwidgeon asking if there were any portraits that held sentimental value. Andromeda thanked the four for their concern, but declined their offer. Narcissa asked in a polite, if possibly overly formal letter for the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, and stated that nothing else in that house held any value for her whatsoever. Headmaster Black's portrait was sent via the Malfoy family owl, leaving Hermione free to dispose of the rest of the portraits. After all, as she reminded her housemates, "It doesn't matter how horrid they were, they are still magical portraits, and one can't simply throw them on a rubbish heap." She, as is her nature, researched a ritualized set of spells and disposed of the portraits with the dignity their subjects would never have afforded her.

Once the entryway portraits were attended to, there was the matter of Mrs. Black's portrait. As Kreacher was so fond of her, it didn't seem right to destroy it outright. Harry had the bright idea to use a muggle saw to cut away at the wall surrounding the portrait, thereby circumventing the sticking spell. Kreacher was overjoyed to be presented with the portrait of his former mistress, promising to keep it in the basement at all times. Some wood, some plaster and a few _reparo_ and other transfiguration spells and one would swear that neither a portrait nor a hole in the wall had ever been there.

Kreacher threw together a mid-afternoon snack for the quartet, and they devised a strategy for handling the rest of the house. They were to head through the house room by room, starting at the fourth floor and working their way to the first. Harry and Hermione would first check for dark objects, banishing them to the ground floor entryway for the time being. Ginny would offer a verdict on the tastefulness and possible historical significance of the furniture and other accoutrements, while Ron would _evanesco_ his way through the dross and _scourgify_ that which passed his sister's muster.

By the time they had worked through three rooms, it was obvious to all that there were more dark objects in the house than any of them wanted to live with. With their entryway looking more and more like Borgin and Burkes' warehouse, it was decided that they ought to call a professional to catalogue and deal with what they found. Normally, this would be the purview of the Aurors corps, but since the war, a competent Auror that was still alive had become difficult to find. Harry decided to floo to the Ministry to pay a call to the only person who fit this description that any of them could think of.

Harry arrived at the Ministry of Magic and was immediately greeted by an ebullient sentry who placed a call directly to Minister Shacklebolt's receptionist. Harry was quite naturally granted an immediate audience, and was shuffled straightaway to the elevators and up to the minister's offices.

"Harry Potter. While I have seen first-hand that you are a wizard one should like to have around in a fight, no one told me you were such a skilled legilemens."

"Beg pardon, Minister?"

"A small joke, my boy. I had just been thinking not fifteen minutes ago of how best to get hold of you, and here you show up at my office door. It's good to see you, Harry. For all you've been through of late, you look in remarkably good health."

Harry suddenly became wary of his surroundings. For years he had steadfastly avoided contact with the upper echelons of Ministry politicians, as they wanted nothing more than to be able to use The Boy Who Lived as their personal spokesman and advocate. Certainly Kingsley Shacklebolt was different, but the surroundings weren't. Being a good reader of people, the minister picked up on Harry's brief discomfort and tried to put the young man at ease.

"Harry, sit down, please. You have had good reason not to trust my predecessors' motives concerning you and what you could offer them. I can understand your initial reaction to hearing that I had been looking forward to meeting with you would be one of apprehension. Please allow me to be frank. I am not Cornelius Fudge, nor am I Rufus Scrimgeour. I have never been a politician, nor do I intend to start such a career now. For the time being, however, I am the Minister of Magic, and as such, have several duties to wizarding Britain. Chief among these is to keep it safe from those who wish it harm, and it is in that vein that I have wanted to speak with you."

Harry had sat by this time, and was listening intently, feeling a little foolish for having so quickly misjudged his old friend.

"Harry, as you are well aware, the Auror corps is in disarray. Were there a concentrated attack by the remnants of the Death Eaters, I should have to call on Dumbledore's Army to provide support to the few trained Aurors I have left. And with the way you have trained that group, Harry, I daresay it would be my Aurors who would be providing _you_ support. Now, while I don't have nearly enough trained witches and wizards at my disposal to handle law enforcement, I have more volunteers than I know what to do with. You've inspired people, Harry. They've seen what kind of difference one young man can make, and they want to play their part in shaping our new society. You're seventeen, you've not passed a single NEWT, but Harry Potter, if you would have the position, I would like to place you in charge of Auror training and development."

"Minister, I –"

"Harry, call me that one more time, and the offer is rescinded," Kingsley interrupted with a smile. "I may be the Minister of Magic, but I should hope to you I can always simply be Kingsley."

"Right. Kingsley, I, well, I don't know what to say. It's an honor, certainly, but I really am only seventeen, and most of the last four years, well, it's been quite a bit of luck you see."

"Luck? Dear boy, are you daft? In the entire Battle of Hogwarts, you lost two members of Dumbledore's Army. That's fewer than the number of Order members lost, and far fewer than the number of Aurors lost. You trained your people well, Harry, and as a result most of them are alive today. And when I'm handing out Orders of Merlin for bravery in that battle, many of them are going to your people. Lavender Brown. Dean Thomas. Padma Patil. Seamus Finnegan. And those are only some of the Third Class awards. Look at this list."

Harry took a quick look at Kingsley's list of award recipients. As he had expected, although had not quite looked forward to, his name headed the list of First Class awards. Receiving that award along with him were Ron, Hermione, Neville Longbottom andMinerva McGonagall. Ginny would be getting a Second Class, along with her mother, George, Luna Lovegood and Lee Jordan. Third Class read like a Gryffindor roll call, with quite a few Hufflepuffs and a smattering of Ravenclaws. Rather like Dumbledore's Army. And that list didn't include the posthumous awards.

"Fine, Kingsley, I see your point. But wouldn't you rather someone more experienced in this position?"

"Like whom, Harry? Mad-Eye? Remus? Tonks? If I could, I would wait until you've had a chance to breathe, but I simply cannot. As it is, I am pulling double-duty heading up the corps until they find a permanent Minister of Magic. All you'd need to do is sort out the qualified volunteers from those who oughtn't be in a fight, and train them the way you trained the DA. I know you don't need the money, but there is a salary of 850 Galleons monthly that goes with the position. And as a senior Ministry official, you would be entitled to many benefits, which you probably need or want even less than the Galleons."

"I mean, of course I'll take the offer," Harry said, not having heard a word Kingsley uttered, "I'd be mental not to."

"Of course you will, Harry. I'd expect nothing less of you. Now, if you have nothing pressing, let's take a look at some of the names on the list of Auror candidates."

The two men worked for several hours, losing themselves in the business of rebuilding. They had sorted out twenty or so witches and wizards from the list of several hundred; people they knew or knew of that were handy with a wand, trustworthy and teachable. Deep into discussion of training methods and techniques used by Harry in his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts, it occurred to Harry that he should probably let his housemates know where he was and that he might yet be awhile. Another half-hour passed before he found an opening to bring this to his newboss's attention, by which time it was nearly 8pm. He flooed Grimmauld Place and asked Ron to "let the girls know I'll be home in an hour or two, and I'll have some terrific news to share." After Ron's barely audible muttered reply, Harry and Kingsley went back at the work with gusto, and by 10:30 had begun to plan approaching those first candidates and setting up times and places to conduct candidate trials.

The two men wrapped up their work around midnight. By that time Harry had been gone for eight hours on his ten-minute errand to the Ministry. A list had been drawn up of whom to contact and when, as well as a list of known and suspected Death Eaters that had survived the battle and were at-large. Harry and Kingsley shook hands heartily, arranged their second meeting for the following week, thanked each other for the most productive work session either of them had had in a long time and parted, with Harry flooing back to Grimmauld Place.

As Harry barreled into the first floor sitting room, the first thing he noticed was a smell from his childhood. Pledge Classic Beauty furniture polish, the very same brand the Dursleys had him use on their furniture since he was old enough to hold the aerosol can. He wandered around a bit. The place was spotless. The brass accents on the wooden stairs fairly gleamed, and the walls had gone from faded silver flock wallpaper to high-gloss crimson enamel, accented immaculately by the dark wood chair rail and floor molding. Gone were the portraits, the knickknacks, in fact, gone was nearly everything with the exception of the couch he and Ginny had shared the week before, which had been lovingly restored, no doubt by Ginny's own wand. He walked upstairs to the library, which had been polished up and down, the entire room of twelve-foot bookshelves perfectly restored to their Georgian lustre. Here on a couch lay Hermione, clad in flannel pyjamas and clutching a copy of _Flying With The Cannons_ to her like a teddybear.

"Hey, Hermione," whispered Harry, "where is everyone? You won't believe what's happened today."

"Right." And Hermione sat up, un-rumpled herself and looked at Harry. "Well, we _are_ a bit knackered from fixing up your house for you all day. I'm thrilled you had such a fun time at the ministry. Ginny is in the master bedroom, just down the hallway. You may want to speak with her. Ron and I have commandeered the bedroom on third floor, and I think I shall be seeing you in the morning." With that, Hermione grabbed her book and padded upstairs in her slippers. Harry got a deep sinking sensation in his gut, but summoned up the courage to make that long walk down the hall to what was now his bedroom.

He approached the door furtively, and after entering, he allowed the door to sit back into its frame before turning the knob back into place. It had worked. Ginny remained blissfully asleep on the king size four-poster bed, long red hair splayed across both pillows like tinted gossamer. Cocooned in the down duvet, he watched her inhalations and exhalations, then got positively lost in the angelic curve of her cheekbone, following it down to her rose hued lips. Harry knelt beside the sleeping love of his life, and placed a soft kiss on those lips he had studied so intently. She stirred, and he ran his fingers through her silken locks, daring another kiss. She awoke with a start.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, and threw her arms around him, dragging him onto the bed on top of her. She rolled over, reversing their positions, and planted pointed kisses on each inch of his face. "Merlin, you're home, love. Where have you been?"

"Kingsley offered me a job, Gin, and I guess we got a bit carried away in the details. Did Ron tell you I'd flooed earlier?"

"Yes, of course, love. A girl can get a bit worried at times, though, especially when her man happens to have been Undesirable Number One not three weeks ago. Now, let's get you out of those robes and into bed."

It wasn't meticulously planned, nor was it filled with romance and candles, but there they were. And it started innocently enough. Yes, Ginny did manage to get Harry out of those robes and kiss him goodnight. And then there was another kiss. And another. And somewhere between snogs and gropes, it became clear that nightshirts and knickers and pants were nuisances, and they were dealt with as such. And as they began to fully explore each other, it also became abundantly clear that all thoughts of 'ready' and 'when the time is right' had gone straight out the window. It wasn't spectacular, it may have even been a bit awkward, but once details such as positioning and angles and such were worked out, the best way to describe Harry and Ginny's first time would be 'magic'. And so it was. And they fell asleep three hours later, youth affording them several opportunities that night to practice technique. And they slept blissfully, brimming with smiles and love for each other.

Hermione was the first one awake. She walked first into the library, expecting to find Harry curled up on the couch. Ginny had been livid by his absence, after all. Not finding him there, she walked down to the first floor dining room, where Kreacher had a mug of coffee waiting for her, along with that morning's _Daily Prophet._ She was halfway through an article on Ministry organizational realignment when Ginny made her way downstairs. She plopped herself into a chair as Kreacher brought her some tea and toast, completely unnoticed. Five minutes of Ginny smiling at a water stain on the ceiling prompted the obvious question from Hermione.

"So, how was it?"

"Um, how was what?" feigned Ginny, snapped rudely out of her reverie.

"Oh come off it, Ginny. You come floating down here with that stupid grin plastered all over your face and expect me not to know what you were up to?"

"If you so much as breathe a word of it to my brother…"

"Ginny, you know I wouldn't. Now answer my question or find out that you're not the only witch in the house that knows a hex or two."

"Honestly Hermione, I couldn't tell you. I mean it was wonderful, brilliant actually. Got better as the night went on. But I wasn't grading – what should I have compared it to? Most of the time I was just thinking how happy I was it was him." Ginny went back to her dream-like state, not noticing her tea getting cold.

"And the Boy Who Shagged…?"

"Spent the better part of six months in a tent with a witch who ought to know better than to ask such questions." Both witches shared a chuckle, and Ginny sipped her tea and read the back of the Hermione's newspaper.

Harry made his way downstairs fifteen minutes later, and was met by a smirking Hermione and a still-dreamy Ginny.

"Morning, Harry. Right. Well, I'm going to see what's taking Ronald so long," said Hermione, and she made her way back upstairs.

"Yes, please," shouted Harry after her. "I want to tell you all what happened last night at the Ministry!"

"Good morning, love," breathed Ginny, who grabbed Harry by the back of his head and released him from her kiss about 30 seconds later.

"Oh my," blushed Harry when he was released. "Good morning indeed."

Kreacher brought Harry a cup of coffee and a muffin with butter and strawberry jam. The silence between the two lovers was palpable, even as they sat inches from each other. Harry stared at a couple of rogue freckles underneath Ginny's left ear, while she was looking at his muffin intently. It took the Boy Who Lived, Lived Again, Defeated Voldemort And Saved The Whole Bloody Wizarding World As We Know It to break the silence.

"Brilliant last night, wasn't it?"

A smile bloomed on Ginny's face. "Mmm. Quite," she purred, and that was all they spoke of it. Their eyes finally found each other, though, and their lips weren't far behind. That was until…

"Oh for the love of Merlin, aren't there enough rooms in this house?" Hermione had come downstairs, Ron in tow. Ron mumbled something about it being morning, and Kreacher set a cup of tea in front of him, along with cream and sugar. Half a cup later, Ron had had enough caffeine to form coherent sentences and asked,

"Right then. So Potter, what was so bloody fascinating at the ministry (shortly interrupted by a swat from Hermione on his arm) that you ditched us for whilst we were running around here like house-elves? No offence, Kreacher." Ron added that last bit after receiving a hard glare from his lady-love that reminded him a bit too much of his mother for comfort.

Harry smirked, couldn't come up with anything clever enough to say that incorporated the words "old married couple", and decided to start his explanation.

"Well, you lot are looking at the new head of training for the Auror corps!" he announced, rather expecting some sort of congratulations. The general ennui he received in return was disconcerting, to say the least.

"Is that it, mate? 's not like you didn't know Kingsley was going to throw that biscuit your way, what?" was Ron's reply. Hermione, being a bit more attentive to others' emotions offered a hug and congratulations. Ginny gave him a squeeze, a kiss on the cheek and a quick "that's wonderful, honey. Really it is." Harry was a bit nonplussed, but continued on, albeit more subdued.

"Right. Well, there are still Death Eaters on the loose, including five in the inner circle. The Auror corps is a shambles, but after what happened at Hogwarts, there are wizards and witches lining up to help out how they can. We need to regroup fast, so Kingsley's asked those of age in the DA to assist as much as we can. He also wants to incorporate my training regimen into official Auror training. I'm drawing a salary, I have full Ministry benefits, and I start on Monday. Brilliant, what?"

Hermione looked aghast. She seemed to be the only person in the room who grasped the full meaning of what Harry had just said.

"The D.A.? Merlin's balls, has he lost his bloody mind? Who in the fuck does he think he is to ask bloody teenagers to bail his ruddy ass out again? After all we've done, after all we've been through, I think we deserve a fucking break. Well sod him and sod the Death Eaters. I'm through fighting, Harry Potter. Through. If you lot want to… No, Harry, I'm not upset at you. This is who you are, this is all you've known your entire life. But to think that the Minister of High Holy Fuck-all wants to put bloody teenagers in harm's way again… I'm just stunned, Harry. Stunned."

And so was the rest of the room. Ron spoke for all assembled when he timidly remarked,

"Merlin, Hermione. Did you save up all your swear words for this occasion?"

Harry and Ginny exhaled, and waited for Hermione to start laughing before they joined in. After a moment, Harry continued.

"Well, I guess Hermione's out. Ron, what do you think?"

"I'm with Hermione on this one, mate. When all is said and done, I'll be there in your training program, you know that, but I reckon I'm a bit tired of fighting for now. I also need to be there for George when he re-opens. He didn't say it yesterday, but I think he's counting on me to help out."

"Right. What about you, love? You're of age in a couple of months."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world, Harry. I'll help you bring down the last of the Death Eaters. But I'm not going through any ruddy Auror training. That's a career, hon, and it's not mine. Oh don't you dare look at me like that, Ronald Weasley. You've all played your part in this war, done your part, contributed. I'd like my turn, thank you very much, even if it is only mop-up duty."

"Ginny, you know –" Ron was cut off by Hermione placing a hand on his arm and shaking her head. "Right then. S'pose a bloke can't look out for his baby sister 'round here. 'm just looking out is all," Ron mumbled into his rapidly cooling tea.

Ginny walked over to Ron and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I know you are, Ron, but quit it. I'll be of age in 88 days and sixteen hours, after all. You only have that long to get used to the idea."

"So let me just owl the rest of the members and… Oh dear. It's high time I find myself another owl, isn't it? I mean a bloke can't put together a team without an owl to communicate with, can he? And there's probably loads to put together for the house, not to mention an entire nursery for Teddy. Hermione, you made a list last night after I left I take it?"

With a wordless _Accio_, Hermione flicked her wand and summoned the list from her room. "Did you expect anything less?" she said with a smirk.

"And there's more. We're all going to need some dress robes for the memorial ceremony on Sunday morning. Kingsley told me about that last night as we were finishing up. It's going to be at Hogwarts. There's going to be an unveiling of a monument, and I have to make another ruddy speech. And we're all getting our Order of Merlin awards then, too. The three of us are getting First Class awards, along with Professor McGonagall and Neville. Gin, you're getting a Second Class, along with your mum and George. Fred's getting a posthumous Second Class. Half of Gryffindor is up for a Third Class. It's going to be a long day."

"Oh Harry, that reminds me," chimed in Ginny, "We got an owl yesterday from Andromeda Tonks. They're going to have Remus and Tonks's funeral on Saturday. Andromeda asked if you'd say something for Remus. Kingsley is going to speak for Tonks."

"Of course I will. That goes without saying. I'll send her an owl once we get back. Shall we meet at the floo at ten, then?" The group assented, and Hermione and Ron got up from the table. Harry followed Hermione and grabbed her by the elbow.

"Hermione, I really didn't mean to get you all worked up back there. And you've been fairly distant all morning. Are we okay, you and I?"

"Merlin, Harry. Six months sharing a tent and you have to ask a silly question like that?" Hermione kissed him on the cheek and followed her love back to their room. When Harry got back to the dining room table, it was Ginny's turn with the probing question.

"Harry, how much say did you have as to who was getting those Orders of Merlin? And why in the name of Godric am I getting a Second Class? I barely did anything in that battle except try to stay alive."

"Gin, I had nothing to do with it. It was all Kingsley and what is left of the Wizengamot. Your re-organization of the DA last year and your participation in each major battle of this war may have something to do with it, though," Harry replied with a smile.

"Thank you. I was afraid for a moment that I was getting an award for being The Boy Who Lived's girlfriend. It's strange though, love."

"What's that, Gin?"

"It doesn't feel like much of anything at all. I just did what was in front of me. You needed me someplace, and I was in the DA, so I did what was asked. And now I'm getting this great big medal for it." Harry placed a lingering kiss on her lips.

"That's how I've lived the last seven years of my life, Gin." He paused for a moment, contemplating what he had just said. But just a moment.

"Now come on, we have some shopping to get done." And the pair raced upstairs.


	6. 5: Fame

Chapter Five: Fame

Harry had not brought his invisibility cloak with him to Diagon Alley. It wasn't forgotten, and there was certainly no lack of conversation about it before the four housemates stepped into the floo, but Harry was resolute.

"I spent seven years as a prisoner of this bloody scar, and I'm not going to hide from it anymore."

Harry had many wonderful qualities: leadership, charisma and bravery come to mind, but while modesty is normally a desirable attribute, in Harry it leads to some very, very poor decision making. Refusing to wear his invisibility cloak to Diagon Alley less than one week after saving the entire Wizarding world was one of these poor decisions. As soon as the four stepped out of the floo at the Leaky Cauldron they were recognized.

"Oi! Look there, mate. It's Harry Potter!"

And that was all it took. Forty-five minutes and eighty-three handshakes later, Harry and his friends had made it to the door of the inn, only to see an even larger crowd waiting for him in the street. Harry turned to the woman who had bailed him out of a similar situation a few days prior.

"Gin, if I shake another hand, it's going to fall off."

"Don't think I'm going to save your arse this time, Potter. You made your bed, now lie in it," was her gentle response.

Harry re-thought the idea of his invisibility cloak, but it was much too late by then. It would be another forty-five minutes and eighty-three handshakes to get back to the floo. Harry had a moment of panic, took a breath, and told Ginny,

"George's flat. Apparating." And he did. Three minutes later, the other three had arrived, andheaded downstairs to the shop.

"So, you lot finally find time to help your old brother?" was how George greeted them as they entered his back room.

"No George," replied Ron, "It seems that shopping with The Boy Who's Done Everything has turned out to be a bit trickier than we thought. Do you have any disguises for the poor lad?"

"No! I am not going to be a prisoner of something I never wanted in the first place. No more. Eventually people are just going to have to get used to the fact that Harry Bloody Potter wants to do a bit of shopping on occasion."

"Language, Harry," came Molly's faint plea all the way from the shop floor.

The five youths looked at each other quizzically. Then an idea came to Hermione.

"George, how well do you know Madame Malkin?"

"She's not quite a friend, but we're good acquaintances. You don't want to Polyjuice the poor boy to look like her, do you?" he replied with a smirk. Ginny slugged him in the arm for that suggestion.

"Occasionally I would read the magazines in my parents' waiting room at their office, when there was nothing else in the house to read, of course. Muggle celebrities sometimes have the problem we're having, and shop owners will often close their doors to the rest of the public so they may shop in peace. Perhaps we could have Madame Malkin do something similar for Harry."

Everyone generally thought this another one of Hermione's brilliant ideas. Arthur, who had been listening in, was particularly intrigued that Hermione had access to Muggle publications. George agreed to walk over to Madame Malkin's and ask her for some assistance. Ten minutes later he returned.

"She's not closing down for you, mate, but she's going to put security at the door, and tell anyone that's in there to keep their ruddy hands to themselves if they'd like to keep all their parts. She says you can just apparate right over, and she'll take care of the lot of you." Straightaway Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron all apparated into the middle of the sales floor of Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Upon arrival, Madame Malkin herself greeted the four young war heroes, and assured them that they would be able to browse her selection of robes in peace. Ginny and Hermione began shifting through the various linen and silken summer-weight robes, with Ron in tow occasionally holding garments waiting to be tried on. Harry went to speak with Madame Malkin about their visit and his intentions.

"You realize of course that not a one of them is going to let me pay for them," he advised the shop owner. "And while Miss Granger's family is quite well-off by Muggle standards, Ron and Ginny may be a bit more modest in their selections today. If you would be so kind, take all of our measurements, and select several summer robes appropriate for solemn and for formal occasions for each of us. Your impeccable sense of style is one I trust implicitly, of course, and cost is no object. Do let each of us buy a garment for ourselves, but for the wardrobes you select after we leave, please send them to this address, and use my Gringotts account."

Madame Malkin agreed, both because of the person asking as well as the size of the purchase he was making. The ruse worked flawlessly. After the four had measurements taken, Ron selected only a lightweight wool charcoal cloak with a modest felt collar. He maintained that he had plenty of clothing, and "a good cloak will dress up any old robes, anyway". Harry's purchase was a bit more becoming of a young man of means; a black cloak with an ornate silver clasp, a black and silver-pinstriped waistcoat over a matching robe. The ladies' selections were a bit more problematic, as both impending summer and the fall of Voldemort brought vibrant colour to the prêt-a-porter racks. Ginny came to the counter with a simple linen robe a shade darker than crimson, replete with a gold cincture. Harry also convinced her to splurge on a linen-silk blend lined cloak of the same colour, with a gold-leaf clasp. Hermione's purchase matched her friend's nearly identically, except that her colour of choice was a deep brown. So as not to raise suspicion, Harry did try to cover the cost of these purchases as well, but was politely told that his friends could take care of themselves, thank-you-very-much.

A couple of flashbulbs met the quartet as they left the clothing store, but a surreptitious wave of Ginny and Ron's wands along with a barely audible incantation left several cameras rather inoperable, along with several photographers wondering why they were in Diagon Alley in the first place. Once outside, the other shoppers seemed to respect their privacy more than the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, and they were able to make their way to the newly reopened Ollivander's to pick up a wand for Hermione, who had grown weary of using the late Mrs Lestrange's wand. Ron was growing accustomed to Pettigrew's Chestnut and Dragon Heartstring wand, and decided to keep it. Hermione was presented with an 11.5" vinewood wand with a unicorn tail horn, free of charge by Mr Ollivander. "You three saved my life back there, the least I could do is find your new wand for you, Miss Granger". Ginny had managed to slip away from the trio while they were catching up with Ollivander, but returned in time to say her good-byes.

No one thought replacing Hedwig was going to be an easy task, but walking into Eeylops was a bit of a struggle for Harry. Ginny grabbed his hand and arm tightly as he walked through the door, where he heard the hoots and calls of many, many owls. He had written down as many of Hedwig's most useful qualities as he could remember: fast, easily recognizable yet stealthy when required, trustworthy with the most sensitive correspondence. Explaining all this to the proprietor, he was presented with another snowy owl, this one male, and therefore a bit less skilful in flight, but more territorial in nature. Hansel, as the new owl was known, was a nearly pure white bird, with fewer markings even than Hedwig. He was a little smaller than Hedwig, and a bit stand-offish at first. Hermione and Ginny looked at each other nervously as Hansel declined an owl nut presented by Harry, but the young man was not concerned. "He'll come around," said Harry. "He's a good owl, I can see it in his eyes."

Their errands for the day complete, the four apparated back to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, where the ladies showed off their new purchases for Molly, and the men rooted around what was left of the lunch Molly had brought. "Oh, don't you lads worry, I brought plenty!" was her innate reaction. Ron's cloak was generally received as "very smart", while Harry was considered "dashing" in his new suit. Hansel was a bit nervous to be among this many people, but was gratified when Harry sent him on his first mission, even puffing out the feathers on his chest when he heard he was going to the ministry. Harry wanted to consult with Kingsley before letting the rest of his family know of his recent appointment. Kingsley's response was swift:

"I'm coming over."

Molly began to set one more place at the makeshift dining table that had taken over George's back room. Harry, Ron and Ginny began to look very nervously at each other, and even more nervously at Hermione, whose facial expressions alternated between steeling herself for battle and wishing she were anywhere else on earth. Harry managed to pull her aside.

"Hermione, it makes all the sense in the world that you speak your peace, but please, if only for my sake, please find a more diplomatic way of expressing yourself than you did at breakfast."

"Harry, I honestly don't know what I'm going to say to the man. He's much more your friend than mine, and while I know he has the best interest of his people at heart – and I honestly know this, Harry – I can't for the life of me fathom why he would willingly subject teenagers to the kind of dangers we couldn't help but experience for the last three years."

"Well, why don't you simply ask him? Approach him as one adult to another, and ask him his reasoning. It may surprise you. If it doesn't, then by all means have a word or two, but please don't lay into him when he gets here." Ron had walked over to where the pair were strategizing.

"You're not going to go all mental on the Minister of – what did you call him this morning?" he said with a snicker.

"Sod off, Ronald," was Hermione's terse reply, as Kingsley Shacklebolt popped onto the sales floor.

"Hermione! Language!" came a cry from Molly at roughly the same time. Kingsley laughed.

"Now that's an admonition I never thought I'd hear," he said. The nervous laughter that followed from the four teenagers was disquieting to the Auror, but he had work to do.

"Harry, it seems as though the _Prophet_'s gotten word of your appointment in the Auror corps. They say they're going to run with a story on Monday unless we give them a press conference tomorrow. Are you okay with that, or would you rather take your chances with their crack reporters?"

"I've never done a press conference before," replied Harry. "Is there any preparation required?"

"Unfortunately, no. Just a good night's sleep, and come dressed for business. I tentatively scheduled the conference for 10:30 tomorrow morning. Will that work for you?"

"Of course. Just keep Skeeter away, and things should go just fine."

"We will arrange that. Did you want to invite your friends along?"

"Actually, I'd rather hope that Ron and Hermione not come, not that they'll mind terribly." The couple shook their heads in unison, confirming Harry's suspicion. "I reckon if they're around, the reporters will ask more questions about our disappearance over the school term than anything else. But if Ginny wouldn't mind, it'd be nice to have her about for moral support." Ginny smiled at this, and agreed to accompany Harry.

"Excellent," replied Kingsley. "It's settled."

"Kingsley," asked Arthur, who had been listening in to the conversation intently, "exactly what will this press conference cover?"

"Oh, of course. Harry hasn't told you yet. Starting Monday, he is going to be the new head of Auror Training and Development, reporting directly to me in my Head Auror role. It's an exciting opportunity for him, and he's certainly the best man in Britain of any age for the job."

A hearty round of congratulations was served by Arthur and Molly, who were 'so proud' of Harry, and hugs all around from the two of them and George were next. Kingsley did stay for the impromptu luncheon, never being one to turn down a meal prepared by the incomparable Mrs Molly Weasley. Hermione took this as her cue to begin a mini press conference of her own, whilst Harry and Ron looked on in trepidation.

"Minister, Harry told us that you were considering mobilizing Dumbledore's Army to help root out the last of the Death Eaters. Is this true?"

"Miss Granger, or may I call you Hermione, (Hermione nodded, telling him that use of her given name would be fine), Dumbledore's Army contains some of the best-trained wizards and witches in the land. I would be derelict indeed were I not to consider asking their help in ending this war once and for all."

"Minister, did the fact that we're teenagers factor even the slightest into your decision-making process?" Hermione prodded, with a bit more venom in her tone. Arthur began to fidget. Molly and Ginny looked on with pride. Ron and Harry suddenly wished they were just about anywhere else on earth, while George simply smiled at the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Hermione, look here," A poor choice of words indeed from the Minister of Magic. He would regret opening that sentence about the time…

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, don't you _dare_ patronize me! Not after what I've been through saving your ruddy hide these last nine months. You take a _Crucio_ or two at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange at the age of eighteen, and then lets talk about 'look here'. I've been through too much, seen too much – Arthur, don't you even _think_ of stopping me – and know too much for you to talk to me like a child. I have given up everything, my NEWTs, my parents, my entire youth as a matter of fact; just so Tom Riddle would be stopped. And now he is, and its bloody well time those whose job it is to protect this land began doing so, before asking teenagers to pick up their slack yet again! And if you think the _Prophet_ is going to enjoy skewering you for hiring The Seventeen-Year-Old Boy Who Lived into a senior position, wait until they hear about this little titbit!"

Kingsley sighed. No, he was hardly trumped. His reasoning and logic were sound, as well as his motives. Dumbledore's Army was, of course, comprised of many of the finest duelers around, the young woman berating him included. He had lost many Aurors in the war, and training a recruit took years. Years he didn't have. But he had to concede several of Miss Granger's points. He sighed again, and looked her straight in her eyes.

"Miss Granger, you are completely correct in most, if not all of your assertions. I, however, am in the same bind my predecessor was in a year ago this time. I have very few Aurors left, and search missions take significant manpower, manpower I simply don't have at my disposal at present. Perhaps I was hasty in considering the DA for further work. Perhaps my admiration for what you, Ron and Harry accomplished blinded me to the fact that you are, of course, still teenagers. But I will tell you; there is neither a draft nor compulsory service in the wizarding world, and I intend to keep it that way. There may be some of your group who wish to continue the fight, and those I will welcome with open arms and a full salary. But no one will be forced to do anything, least of all the three of you."

Hermione was softened by Kingsley's words, but certainly not cowed by them.

"Minister, if I – "

"No need, Hermione. If there is a witch in Britain with more reason or more authority to question the Ministry than you, I don't know who she may be. As Harry may have told you, you are to be commended very publicly for your sacrifices and your actions. Please know that I would never patronize you, nor minimize what you and for that matter, most of your year at Hogwarts have done for our world. If I came across thusly, then it is I who should be apologizing. One thing I will ask, however. And that is simply if we may postpone the rest of this discussion until after lunch. I fear we are holding up one of Molly's masterpieces, and I for one would like to tuck in."

"That is very kind of you, Minister."

"It's Kingsley, by Godric, and I meant what I said. You name the time, and I will clear my schedule to see you. You've more than earned that courtesy, Hermione Granger."

If a room could exhale, the back room of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes did at about that moment. And Molly had once again outdone herself with beef and kidney pasties and a cold asparagus and pimento salad, all washed down with butterbeer. The mood was lightened, the atmosphere, while not jovial, was certainly a pleasant one, and Kingsley took his leave a bit chastened, but more at peace with his position than he had felt in the entire week he had owned it. Arthur was still in quite a state of shock at what had transpired between the young witch and the Minister of Magic, but he did not mention it. His admiration for his son's girlfriend had skyrocketed. Before the quartet took their leave to go back home, Molly offered some encouragement and kudos to Hermione for her moxie, and commended her son for finding himself "such an independent and strong-minded witch". Both blushed and made their way to the floo with Harry and Ginny.

Safely home at 12 Grimmauld Place, the couples made their separate ways to their bedrooms to put away their new belongings. Waiting for them, of course, were the wardrobes Madame Malkin had selected for each of them. Harry braced himself for reproves from his friends, but they were a bit milder than he anticipated.

"Harry, you oughtn't spend so much on me, you're going to spoil me rotten!" came from Ginny, along with a kiss.

"Mate, you really didn't have to do this, but thanks," was Ron's reproach.

"Harry, this is simply too much. Please don't run through all of your money so quickly," was Hermione's.

Harry had prepared an answer, but somehow it was no longer apropos. No matter, he delivered it anyway.

"Consider this payback for being with me this last year, for sticking by me even when I was 'Undesirable Number One'. One thing we all lost out there was a good deal of our wardrobes. Plus, we're going to need them as we look for jobs, start jobs, and attend ceremonies, services and funerals over the next few weeks." The other three shook their heads, something about 'bloody noble prat' was mentioned, and for the first time in well over a year, Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron had a very uneventful evening. Dinner was served by Kreacher, a few rounds of wizard chess were won by the rapidly improving Hermione over Harry, while Ginny and Ron watched on and gave rather scathing commentary. At about ten, they decided a good night's sleep was most definitely in order, and they headed to bed.

An owl appeared at Harry and Ginny's window not five minutes after they entered the room. She was carrying three white roses, still in a loose bud and with red tips, and a parchment. On the parchment was a poem:

The red rose whispers of passion,

And the white rose breathes of love;

Oh the red rose is a falcon,

And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud

With a flush on its petal tips;

For the love that is purest and sweetest

Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

As well as an inscription:

_My dearest Harry, please know that we were never truly apart this past year. I, too, thought of nothing as much as I thought of you, and your safety was paramount in my mind. Sharing this summer with you, in our bed, in our home, is more than I could have dreamed possible. I love you, Harry Potter, mind, body and soul. Yours, completely, Ginny._

Harry was dumfounded, speechless and overwhelmed. Arguably the most powerful wizard of his day, he, like Riddle, suddenly found himself brought to his knees by the 'Power the Dark Lord Knows Not'. Certainly he had experienced love before, been shown love, expressed love as Eros, Stergo and Philio, but never this directly, this immediately. It terrified him. He continued to look at the parchment, as if studying it intently. He knew he couldn't run away – that would certainly not constitute a high point in his relationship with Ginny. He couldn't fight back, at least not directly. He screwed up his courage, forced a very believable smile, placed the roses and parchment on a chest of drawers, and did and said what he felt was most appropriate for the situation.

"Gin, that was so beautiful. Where did you find that poem? And when did you sneak off to the florists?" he asked, pulling her into his arms.

"Oh, that?" Ginny beamed and tossed her hand. "A muggle book Dean once got me. Glad to see I could put it to some use." She melted into his arms and they kissed, quite passionately, and for a good long time. Harry had Kreacher put the flowers into some water in a vase before they retired for the night, which seemed to him to be the next logical thing to do. After all, he had a press conference the next morning.

Author's note: Press conference is next, of course. It will be another 'insert'. The poem _is_ actually from a muggle book, albeit one published well after Dean and Ginny were an item. The poem is "A White Rose" by John Boyle O'Reilly, and the book is _The Book of Celtic Verse_, John Matthews, ed. Watkins Publishing, London. 2007.

The "author alerts" and "story alerts" and "favorites" are very flattering indeed, but please consider taking a moment to say hello. Even if it's just "Nice work" or "Can I have my 45 minutes back now, please", reviews are lovely to see. Just a thought 

-Christopher


	7. Insert: The Press Conference

Author's Note:

Many, many thanks to ToManyLetters for helping me through my rather severe writer's block by providing some of the questions. Thanks as well to Cassandra's Cross for the last one. Go read their stuff, they're both brilliant writers.

Insert: The Press Conference

Harry and Ginny awoke the following morning around eight to the smell of a full breakfast and the realization that their spring respite had just come to an end. Their new dress robes, which had been dutifully laid out by Kreacher, were donned, and the young couple slowly and sleepily made their way down to the dining room for a full breakfast on which they would rely to get through an even fuller day. After breakfast, they walked over to the fireplace in the sitting room, both looking as if a trip to the gallows would be preferable.

"Gin, you sure you want to come with me? There's bound to be loads of questions about The Boy Who Lived's love-life, and those will certainly increase if he comes with The Girl With The Bat-Bogey Hex in tow."

"Merlin, Harry, we've been through this a dozen times. Yes, I'm coming with you, yes, I know there will be some uncomfortable moments, and no I'm not looking forward to watching someone other than me make you squirm. I will, however, have my wand with me in case someone gets out of line." Harry stifled a small chuckle.

"Fine, fine, of course. I'm just not looking forward to what happens if the same reporters that were at the Burrow get a look at you. Well, here goes."

Harry and Ginny stepped into the fireplace, arm in arm.

"Ministry of Magic VIP. Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley. Password: Expelliarmus." Harry tossed the Floo powder, and a burst of ash and smoke heralded his and Ginny's arrival at the Ministry.

"Harry, Ginny! Glad to see my owl about the VIP entrance made it on time. My my, we're all looking sharp today. No business casual dress robes on you two." Kingsley welcomed the pair into the room with a laugh, a firm embrace for Harry, and a kiss on the cheek for Ginny. Harry was, for the moment, a bit more at ease with his surroundings.

"How many do you think we're up against, Kingsley?" he asked his new boss.

"They didn't keep me apprised, Harry. But as it was the _Prophet_ that pressed us for this, I doubt they'd want to lose exclusivity on the story. Then again, one never knows at events like this."

"And if I bollocks the whole thing up?"

"Harry, you saved the whole bloody world not two weeks ago. I think you can bend over, flip up your robes and moon the lot of them, and they'll still sing your praises in their articles. We're only obligated to give them a half-hour, and then we leave the dais. Simple as that."

"Simple as that, eh? And if other reporters are around?"

"When _Teen Witch Weekly_ asks you about your Hungarian Horntail tattoo, simply tell them you don't let anyone other than Miss Weasley have a look at it," Kingsley replied, laughing. " No, don't look at her, lad, it was Molly that passed that bit along. Ginny, you'll be seated on the right of the dais behind some curtains that frame the stage. Harry, you'll have a good view of her out of the corner of your eye. Use that – it's your rock. Stay confident, young man, it's the best way to handle situations like this. Did you prepare any opening remarks?"

"Opening remarks, Kingsley?"

"Thought as much. Here, Harry, my press secretary dashed this up for you yesterday afternoon. We have a good ten minutes before the press conference starts, take the time to review this and make it sound natural as you read it." Kingsley presented Harry with a short – almost terse – opening statement, and Harry did his level best to read it, re-read it and re-re-read it over the next ten minutes. Almost before he knew it, however, Ginny was being shuffled off to her seat, and Harry and Kingsley were led out to the stage to a rousing applause. Unfortunately for both men, Kingsley was closer to the truth with this jest about _Witch Weekly_ than he was with his ideas on the _Prophet's_ exclusivity desires. Harry's breath seized in his chest as he looked out on the standing room only sea of reporters and photographers who had arrived for the event.

A rather self-important looking wizard began the proceedings

"Please rise for Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mr. Harry Potter."

Kingsley's remarks were first:

"Thank you witches and wizards. The _Daily Prophet_ has asked Mr. Potter and I to answer some questions regarding a matter I had hoped to announce Monday. I have asked Mr. Potter to serve the Magical community of the United Kingdom as the head of Auror Training and Development. Mr. Potter has graciously agreed to accept this position, and will begin his duties on Monday. I do not need to enumerate the many good works Mr. Potter has done for his country, and indeed for the Magical world at large. His leadership and training skills were evident in the battle that took place here two years ago. Many of you may recall that it was a group of six fourth and fifth-year Hogwarts students that held off a dozen Death Eaters, so that they might not get their hands on an item Voldemort had asked them to steal. Mr. Potter's training is what allowed these youths to fight so valiantly and courageously, and we believe he will bring that ethic with him to the Auror Corps. And now, before we field any questions, Mr. Potter has prepared a few words of his own."

Harry pulled out the paper handed to him earlier and began to read:

"Thank you, Minister. It is a great honor to be asked to serve the Magical people of the United Kingdom in an official capacity, and I appreciate the opportunity presented me by Minister Shacklebolt, as well as his faith and trust in my abilities. It has long been a dream of mine to serve as an Auror, and I pledge to you today that the new Auror Corps, as part of the New Ministry, will be the best-trained and best-prepared group of witches and wizards this community has ever seen. The training they will undergo will be arduous, but will ensure that those wishing to take up the mantle of Dark Magic and Blood Purity will be met with swift justice. I look forward to serving you, the Magical people of the United Kingdom, as well as the Ministry. Thank you."

And nearly at once, forty-five hands shot into the air to ask questions of the two men. The self-important wizard, whom Harry guessed must be the emcee, pointed at one witch, and the press conference was on.

"From the Daily Prophet. Minister, while we appreciate all that Harry has done in the war against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the lad is only seventeen years old. How do you expect grown witches and wizards to listen to a schoolboy?"

Kingsley's response was direct, and his eyes narrowed to a frightening glare, "Would _you_ take this 'lad' on in a duel, Miss? I certainly wouldn't. His remarkable fighting skills aside, my Aurors are professionals, and will respect _Mr. Potter_ because he has been placed in a position of authority. Next question, please."

"Also the Daily Prophet. Mr. Potter, what changes will you be making to the Auror training program?"

"We have a tremendous need for competent Aurors at present, and we don't have three years to wait for them to complete the current curriculum. I will be using many of the techniques I developed in training Dumbledore's Army to bring new recruits up to speed as quickly as possible." Harry took a deep breath after delivering this answer. It was a question he had anticipated, and therefore he had an answer at the ready. 'Not so bad after all,' he thought.

"Also the Daily Prophet. Harry, will you be again asking your schoolmates to join you in rounding up the remaining Death Eaters?"

Harry noticeably bristled at this. His answer was terse: "I don't recall ever asking anyone to fight alongside me, not even Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

The reporter continued: "But surely a group of teenag-" Harry interrupted, his voice elevated:

"I am going to say this once more and once more only. I have never, ever asked anyone to risk his or her life in battle. To suggest otherwise is unfair not only to me, but to the memories of those who've died in the war. Everyone who has fought Tom Riddle and his band of murderers has done so of their own free will, because they believed it the right thing to do. I will answer no more questions of this nature. Next, please."

"Don MacNamee, New York Spirit page six reporter. Harry, just how close are you and Hermione? And if it's not her, is there a different special someone in your life?"

Harry let go a long, frustrated sigh. "Right. Sorry Don, but this was sorted out in the British press years ago." There was general laughter from the assembled. "Hermione Granger and I are the best of friends, and have been since first year. She and Ron Weasley are the two best friends a bloke could ask for. Hermione's like a sister to me, but we are not, and have never been romantically involved. As for your other question, well, you did travel an awfully long way to ask me about my love life, didn't you? (further laughter) So I'd better send you back with something. Yes, I'm seeing someone. We've been seeing each other for a little over a year. Yes, it's serious. And no, I'm not going to tell you lot who she is."

"Daily Prophet. Harry, when are you going to tell us what happened while the three of you were on the run?"

"I believe Miss Weasley answered that question quite succinctly the last time you stuck a quick-quotes quill in my face. It had something to do with bats, if I recall." Harry saw the faces of most of the Daily Prophet contingency blanch. "Ah, I see many of you recall.

"Jim Turner, Wizarding Press International. Harry, do you feel as though you've avenged your parents' deaths by killing Voldemort?"

"Next question." was Harry's only reply. This caused quite a murmur in the press corps, and the scratching of quills on parchment became noticeably louder.

"Current Events Weekly. Minister, what are your plans with regard to changes in the Ministry?"

"Thank you for the question, sir. I was afraid the entire half-hour was going to be taken up by questions about a seventeen-year-old's love life. I'm going to be frank – the ministry is in a right bind. So many of our best officials were killed during the war that it's going to be a massive effort to replace them. And Minister Thicknesse did such a thorough job of placing people loyal to Voldemort in positions of authority that the first thing I had to do upon taking this position was to sack half the ministry. Percy Weasley has been in charge of reviewing all personnel decisions made in the past year, and contacting former Ministry employees to offer them their old jobs. Progress is being made, although it's slow going. In addition to this, there is a war on still. As long as there are Death Eaters outside of custody, the war continues. And to those who remain, I advise them to turn themselves in, rather than wait for the Ministry to find them.

"Some changes you, the press, will note concern the transparency of my office. While some matters are of a classified nature, I will be as honest and open with you as I can be. You also will not be dictated to regarding editorial decisions. The press, in a word, is now free. I hope that answers your question."

"Paris-Mage. Monsieur Potter, the people of the France are thanking you for all you have done against this terrible person. My question is, what are you knowing about an Order of the Phoenix?"

"Thank you for that lovely message, and to the French people for their good wishes. As to the Order of the Phoenix, they were a very brave group of witches and wizards who fought in the war. More than that, I cannot say."

"WizardWeek: Minister, when are we going to have a proper memorial for those who died at Hogwarts?"

"Headmistress McGonagall and I are finalizing details on that now. Many families, however, have yet to have a chance to bury their dead, and we are certainly going to wait until that is accomplished before going ahead with any public ceremony."

"Quibbler. Harry, you've given so much of your life to the wizarding community. What can we, in return, give to you?"

"A bit of space as I Floo into the Leaky Cauldron would be nice, for starters. Seriously though, I don't need anything. I have a good job, a family that's taken me in and loved me the way my own couldn't, wonderful friends – such as your boss's daughter – and a beautiful witch at my side who's pretty handy with a wand herself, mind. What I've never had, though, is normalcy. It's not that I don't appreciate the thanks and the well wishes – I really do. I'd just like to be able to walk into a pub with my mates and not be mobbed. Now that I don't have to worry about some bloody prophecy between me and Riddle, it'd be nice just to have a bit of a normal life."

The emcee wizard announced that there would be one more question. A rather strident voice emerged from the crowd, quite out of the blue.

"Harry, is it true that you've shacked-up with your lady-love, and that she's still underage?" A gasp was heard from the press corps, which quickly settled into fervent murmuring.

"Why don't you first tell us all why you've never bothered to register as an animagus, Skeeter," Harry answered, with a smug smirk on his face, "and write your next article on how it is that Azkaban manages to keep your beetle form locked up?" With that, Harry and Kingsley proceeded backstage, where Ginny was waiting for them.

"Harry, you were brilliant out there! You looked as though you've been doing this your whole life. And I love how you nailed Skeeter on that last question! Maybe politics is your calling, who knows?" And Ginny placed a rather wet kiss on Harry's cheek while attempting to squeeze the air out of him.

"Ginny, if I may have a word in private with Harry, please." Kingsley did not look quite as pleased as Miss Weasley. "I'll have him back to you in just a bit, promise." He was able to spare her a smile as he whisked Harry to his office.

"Kingsley, what is it? I thought I handled things quite well out there."

"Harry, remember how I told you that you could moon the press corps and they'd still sing your praises?" Harry nodded, slowly. "What you did was worse. Much worse. None of us likes Skeeter. But she is a reporter, and you are a ministry official. What you just did is to threaten a reporter with prison because you didn't like the question she asked."

"But I didn't. At least, that wasn't my intent!" Harry pleaded.

"I know that, Harry," replied his boss. "But a room full of reporters doesn't. The good news is that they're used to such treatment from Scrimgeour and Fudge's time. The bad news is that I've spent the past week bending over backwards for those vultures to try and earn their trust, and you've single-handedly cost me that week's work, if not more. Harry, I know this was your first press conference, and aside from that miscue, you acquitted yourself as a Gryffindor should. But when dealing with the press, you must consider each word you say very, very carefully. Take a lesson from this experience, Potter. If you get skewered in the papers tomorrow, it means that my work hasn't been in vain. If you get lauded as the Boy Who Lived, it means we're going to have some repair work to do. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now I'm not going to be on the receiving end of a Ginny Weasley special, so let's get you back to that pretty witch of yours, alright?"

More Author's Note:

By the way, in the last chapter I named Harry's new owl "Hansel". Who can guess why? First person to do so gets, um, something, I guess. I hope you enjoyed the insert. If you did, or even if you didn't, go ahead and let me know through a review.

-Christopher


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